Dark Abyss
by Celestial Embers
Summary: Solon was convinced of it – he had found their salvation. Untouched as he was by the teachings of the Church of Seiros, young Byleth would make a fine ally indeed. "For all Agarthans, let there be light!"
1. Chapter 1

_**Dark Abyss**_

_**Chapter 1: The New Professor**_

* * *

"Your heart has made its choice, then."

The mysterious woman before him had done nothing but grace him with an almost radiating warmth. Even now, as she spoke, the archbishop's voice carried with it a sense of peace and serenity.

However, his father had warned him about her, and the words of his father were not to be taken lightly.

"All I ask is that you guide these open minds with virtue, care, and sincerity."

Lady Rhea smiled, as though she expected nothing less from Byleth regardless of her request. It was as though she knew him, perhaps better than even he knew himself.

The man beside her, on the other hand, who was strikingly similar in appearance to the archbishop, did not seem so convinced.

His frown deepened, and his brows were furrowed. Seteth, as he was called, did not seem to trust Byleth in the least. Ironically, Byleth found himself trusting Seteth far more easily than he did Lady Rhea.

As a mercenary, trust was something not so easily earned. The many men and women in his father's corps had earned that trust over the span of many years, and even more grueling battles. It went without saying that Byleth had learned to trust his clients even less, lest they attempt to weasel their way out of a deal.

"They are all promising youths who bear the weight of Fódlan's future upon their shoulders. I hope you appreciate what an honor it is to lead them."

That remained to be seen, thought Byleth. It was an honor to lead his father's mercenaries, because they were diligent and dependable soldiers. Unless his students proved to be the same, he would find no honor in associating with them.

There was no use for bumbling, incompetent fools in positions of power. In fact, the only use Byleth could see for such individuals were as sources of easy money.

Nevertheless, he nodded, seemingly in agreeance with Seteth's words. It would not do to make a poor impression on the people supplying his monthly income.

Almost immediatly, the sound of soft footsteps reached his ears. A young girl had entered the audience chamber, and approached them curiously.

"Brother? Oh! I am so sincerely sorry! I did not mean to interrupt."

Seteth's stern countenance vanished almost instantly, replaced by a loving one, even if the words he spoke came out in stark contrast to the expression he wore.

"I am in the middle of something, Flayn. Is it urgent?"

Perhaps it was an example of familial love, Byleth pondered, in which an older brother would pretend to be annoyed by their younger sibling despite holding obvious affection for them. He had heard of it during his travels, mostly from some of his father's troops.

"No, no, it is nothing." replied the green-haired girl. "More importantly…" she continued, now turning her eyes toward Byleth. "Who is this?"

Allowing no time for a reply, Seteth quickly elaborated.

"This is our newest professor at the academy."

"Oh my!" exclaimed Flayn. "A new addition to the Officers Academy! I am so very pleased to meet you, Professor."

She bowed at the waist; the curls of her hair swinging forward as she did so.

"I am Seteth's little sister, Flayn. I am so happy to make your acquaintance."

Byleth was about to reciprocate when, yet again, Seteth interrupted. The man must be quite overprotective of his sister, because surely his voice could not be that grating to hear.

"Let us focus on the topic at hand. There is something that you should be aware of."

His frown was back in place, and he looked at Byleth with the utmost sincerity.

"In a few days' time, there will be a mock battle between the three houses, intended to gauge the current progress of the students."

He paused deliberately.

"We will be using this battle as an opportunity to ascertain your own abilities as well. Please do not disappoint the archbishop. That is all."

With nothing more to say, the archbishop's advisor excused himself and exited the chamber; his little sister in tow.

Lady Rhea had not stopped smiling, despite the stiff exchange. She even seemed to derive some amusement from it, unless he was mistaken. However, she too proceeded to excuse herself, although it was more of a dismissal disguised as such.

Byleth had enough experience with his father to recognize such a thing for what it was.

He bowed, as did the two other professors – colleagues, he corrected himself – and left. In any case, it was probably for the best, as he now had to break the news to the Black Eagles.

Byleth had a long day ahead of him.

* * *

"Professor! I did not think to see you back here so soon."

Tomas smiled kindly; his eyes holding a knowing twinkle. Ever since Byleth had first come across the library, its resident librarian had gone out of his way to make him feel welcome. Even now, at the crack of dawn, the old man was here to greet him.

Byleth nodded in response.

"Crests." he supplied, while taking a seat by one of the wooden tables. "I wish to learn more about them."

If Tomas was surprised, he hid it well. However, that did not stop him from inquiring further.

"Crests? Only last night you were nose-deep in a book about the history of the Church of Seiros. Why the sudden change, if I may ask?"

"Apparently I possess an unidentified crest. Professor von Essar has already claimed vials of my blood and several strands of my hair. Thus far, none of his efforts have born fruit."

Apparently, that explanation had been worthy of a pair of raised eyebrows. Perhaps he should have withheld that information, thought Byleth. Then again, he knew fleetingly little of crests, and much less what he should or should not reveal.

"I see." replied Tomas. He now appeared deep in thought, before scurrying off to the back of the library.

"Just a moment." he called out, and disappeared behind one of the bookshelves, no doubt in search of some ancient, obscure tome on crests.

Tomas was helpful like that.

In the meantime, Byleth drew up his notes for tommorow's lecture. According to Edelgard, he had hit it off well with the students. With the exception of Linhardt, the lazy, ever-drowsy member of his class, most of them had shown interest in him and looked forward to seeing what he could teach them.

With that in mind, he had gone over different topics that would be of benefit to his students. Having gauged their behavior over the last day, Byleth decided to cross out the first line on his list.

'Ten efficient ways to kill' seemed like something more fit for the future. He would be remiss if his students were put off because of poor pacing.

"A good idea, Professor."

Tomas had returned, and quite silently at that. Byleth was confident in his senses, and for an old man to catch him by surprise was rather shameful.

With a dull thud, the librarian set down a huge, black book covered in leather straps. Torn and wrinkled bits of paper were peeking out from between the covers, and for all intents and purposes, it most certainly looked like an ancient, obscure tome.

On the front, Byleth could barely make out the remnants of what had to be the title of the book. Sadly, it was illegible, not only because the ink had faded away, but because he did not recognize the language.

"I'm afraid it is of unknown origin, and mostly incomprehensible. Inside, however, are depictions of the largest collection of crests known to mankind, with a few notes attached. Mayhap there is something yet of use amongst those withered pages."

Byleth nodded gratefully. In all honesty, he had expected less.

"Thank you, Tomas."

The old man shook his head.

"Think nothing of it. It brings me joy to aid such a studious youth as yourself in the pursuit of knowledge."

* * *

The Crest of Flames.

Unlikely though it may be, it was the closest match he could find to the incomplete and distorted image produced by Hanneman's apparatus.

Byleth traced the picture of the crest with his fingers, slightly irked that Tomas had managed to answer the question Hanneman presumably needed another pint of his blood for.

Along with a sample of his flesh.

Then again, he was being slightly unfair toward his fellow professor. Without Hanneman, he would not have had anything to go by at all.

Byleth sighed uncharacteristically, and closed the massive book. He was still not entirely convinced that his crest was truly the Crest of Flames, but he felt an unexplicable sense of familiarity when looking upon it.

"_As do I."_

He fought the urge to jump.

She was awake.

"_And you could stand to sound more happy about it!"_

Ever since she had turned back time, allowing Byleth to escape a most untimely death, Sothis had been napping.

"_Recovering from the use of magic beyond your comprehension."_

Which, in turn, had given him an entire day of blissful silence and tranquility.

"_Byleth…"_

He did not apologize, but decided to stop antagonizing the irate, little girl. She had saved his life, after all, which he was grateful for, and provided questionable entertainment to boot.

"_I shall ignore the first and last part of that thought. Now, that book… I do not like the feeling of it."_

Byleth had stuffed it under his arm, and was currently headed out of the library and into the hallway of the faculty floor. It was true that it looked rather gruesome, but beyond that, it was just an ordinary book.

He did not see any reason for Sothis to find it so unsettling.

"_I cannot explain it! It is… icky."_

Pondering that statement, Byleth nodded idly to a passing student – Ignatz, if he recalled correctly.

Only a short walk down the stairs, and he found himself in the monastery's courtyard. The sun shone brightly, high above the horizon, and he deduced that it must be around midday.

As one would expect, students roamed the grounds, most of them heading in the same direction.

"Professor! Headed to the dining hall?"

He looked over his shoulder and spotted Edelgard, who approached him with a smile on her face. Much like when they had first met, she wore her academy uniform. However, Byleth noticed that she had styled her hair in a slightly different manner.

"Miss Hresvelg." he greeted, before shaking his head. "I'm afraid not. I was meaning to return to my quarters."

"Oh, that's unfortunate." she said, her smile fading slightly. "I was hoping to share a meal with the person who not only saved my life, but is to be my teacher as well."

"_See? That is how you show proper gratitude."_

"I see." replied Byleth. "In that case, it would be rude of me to turn down your invitation."

"Ah!" exclaimed Edelgard, her cheeks growing rosy. "That is, if you're not occupied with any other duties, of course."

He shook his head, already falling into step alongside her.

They soon passed the students' dormitories, where his own last-minute quarters were situated. With that in mind, and an increasingly heavy load under his arm, Byleth decided to make a quick detour.

"A moment, Miss Hresvelg. I do not wish to carry this book around with me for the entire day."

Edelgard started, finally noticing what he had been carrying. Her blush grew more pronounced, even as she stammered her apologies for failing to take Byleth's situation into consideration.

Within the confines of his mind, Sothis snickered.

"_Oh, dear. She is completely smitten with you, the poor girl!"_

He had no idea what she was on about.

* * *

"This smells delicious."

Byleth nodded, setting his own portion of roasted pheasant down on the table. In addition to the main course, Edelgard had also acquired for herself a large cup of peach sorbet.

As she ordered the dessert, she had given both himself and the chef a pointed stare. He did not understand why, but the chef had gulped nervously and scrambled hastily to fulfill the princess' request.

"It does. A marked improvement over the usual rations."

"Rations?" asked Edelgard, taking a delicate bite out of her pheasant.

"A mercenary is always on the move. There is a distinct lack of time and facilities for… gourmet meals."

Indeed, most of his meals consisted of small amounts of food, which were rich in energy. Either that, or meat procured in late-night hunts.

Being used to bland and stale food, Byleth had actually been apprehensive about suddenly changing his eating habits. If the academy's meals did not go well with his stomach, he would be in for a most troublesome term.

"Oh. I wouldn't know, given my… upbringing." said Edelgard, sounding almost disappointed by the fact.

Personally, Byleth did not believe she should lament the lack of rations in her life.

"What's that about your upbringing, Edelgard?" asked a boisterous yet cultured voice, cutting clearly through the sound of chattering students and clattering tableware.

He struggled not to groan.

It was Ferdinand von Aegir, the eldest son and heir of House Aegir. The boy had made sure to let him know when he was familiarizing himself with the monastery's students.

Ferdinand reached down, drawing a seat for himself next to Byleth. In the corner of his eye, the boy's ginger hair flashed brightly, and Byleth could not help but be reminded of a bee.

"This simply won't do! I cannot allow you to hog our new professor's time all to yourself."

His eyes widened suddenly, as he seemed to come to a realization.

"You wouldn't be trying to curry favor with the professor already, would you, Edelgard?"

Said girl pinched the bridge of her nose, failing to hide her exasperation.

"Ferdinand." she began. "Unless you have something productive to add to the conversation…"

That seemed to shake the boy out of his stupor. His eyes settled into a determined expression, and he met Byleth's gaze.

"Yes, that reminds me." he said. "Professor! Let it be known that I, Ferdinand von Aegir, aim to prove my worth in the upcoming mock battle against our fellow houses. You shall see that I am superior to Edelgard in every way!"

Ferdinand then stood up and gave a refined bow, before taking his leave.

Following that declaration, Byleth and Edelgard finished the last scraps of their respective meals in silence. The dynamic between the Adrestian princess and Ferdinand was interesting, to say the least. Their rivalry appeared one-sided, but Byleth could tell that Edelgard held little patience for the boy.

He wondered if there was any sort of lost history between their families, and decided to ask Tomas sometime in the future. It would reflect poorly on him if their animosity were to impair their ability to work alongside each other.

"You should eat your dessert, Miss Hresvelg. It is on the verge of melting entirely."

Edelgard let out a tiny, alarmed cry, and quickly dug into her sorbet. As he watched the girl devour her dessert, Byleth came to a conclusion.

She enjoyed sweets.

* * *

"_Well, then! Have you decided on a topic for your first lecture yet?"_

"Yes." answered Byleth, now sitting by the desk in his quarters. Once he had returned from his meal with Edelgard, he had been sifting through various plans, eventually settling on one in particular.

It was less of a lecture and more of an exercise; one that his father always implemented on new recruits.

Of course, the mercenary recruits were already certified warriors, riders and mages – all of which his students were not. Therefore, Byleth would have to water down the exercise to something more manageable, yet no less effective.

"…_And?" _

Sothis hovered restlessly above the bed in his room, somehow manifesting a semi-physical form. It was preferable to a bodiless voice in his head, so he did not mind.

"_Of course. Witnessing my magnificent form is a privilege, after all."_

Byleth ignored her narcissistic quip, and chose to answer her original question.

"I will teach my students how to work together." he revealed. "Tending to the horses, weeding, clearing rubble and watching the skies atop the pegasi."

"_That sounds dull."_

He doubted Sothis had ever tried her hand at any of those things, but chose not to voice that thought.

"_A little pointless, considering I already know what you are thinking. Nevertheless, I shall defer to your judgment on this matter."_

It was hardly as though she had a choice.

"_Phooey!"_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Dark Abyss**_

**_Chapter 2: A Thread Undone  
_**

* * *

"No way."

A dark-haired student shrugged unhelpfully.

"I'm having a hard time believing it myself. Those are the rumors, though."

Byleth had just finished an intense but fruitful first lesson. His methods had been met with skepticism at first, mostly from Ferdinand and Bernadetta, and for widely different reasons.

The former believed stable duty to be something beneath his stature, while the latter was quite adamant that setting foot near another person, not to mention a horse, would result in her death.

Naturally, Byleth proceed to inform the duo that they would be tackling their assignment together.

He also immediately split up Edelgard and Hubert, in favor of pairing them up with somebody else. Edelgard took to weeding with surprising gusto, and it was perhaps for the best that Hubert did not have to witness his liege reduced to manual labor.

As for the rest, he had them either clearing rubble off the grounds or assisting the Sky Watch. Once the more pretentious students stopped complaining about their assignments, the period had turned productive.

Communication was key to effectiveness, and that particular message had gotten through to his students clearly. Hopefully, they would perform better than their peers in tomorrow's mock battle, now that they were more familiar with each other.

It was hardly as though he could teach them how to fight in a single day, anyway.

"Professor!" exclaimed the dark-haired student as he walked by. "Forgive me, but I must ask. Is it true that you had the Black Eagles riding pegasi today?"

Byleth nodded.

His friend sighed longingly at that, her expression turning distant.

"Oh, I wish I were in your class. It's my dream to become a pegasus knight, one day." she said, before shaking her head dejectedly.

"I don't think Professor Casagranda would let us anywhere near them, though. Not for another term, at least."

A miniscule frown formed on Byleth's face.

"I'll speak with her."

"Y-You'd do that?" the girl asked, clearly in shock.

He nodded once more, before bidding them a good day and resuming his stroll. He had to speak with Manuela and Hanneman regardless, and putting in a word for the heartbroken young girl would pose little additional effort.

"_You have a soft heart."_

Byleth mulled over Sothis' words.

Truthfully, he did not know if he possessed a heart at all.

* * *

"Those brats are going to be the death of me."

Byleth attempted a comforting expression. Almost immediately, giggles resounded in his mind.

"_You look ridiculous."_

He ceased raising the corners of his lips, and resigned himself to enduring yet another one of Manuela's rants.

"I swear, Claude is going to drive me insane. Hilda loafs around, and… Oh, goddess, don't even get me started on Lorenz!"

His fellow professor had bags under her eyes, and her robes were wrinkled. Byleth could even see some of the makeup on her face coming off, likely due to a mixture of sweat and tears, and grew more appreciative of Ferdinand by the minute.

When Manuela suddenly perked up, he felt a chill run down his spine. She looked at him hungrily, and her voice turned sultry.

"Although, now that I think about it… You're here, aren't you, Professor?"

Byleth took a step backward.

"Now, now… No need to play the gentleman. Even if it is one of your many admirable traits."

Manuela licked her lips, inching ever closer.

"How about you show me a good time… and make me forget all about those pesky little children."

Just as she reached out with her hands, attempting to grab the collar of his robes, Byleth turned tail and vacated the room.

"Please allow your students to interact with the pegasi." he added belatedly, before slamming the door shut behind him."

Once safely out in the hallway, Byleth gained a newfound respect for the rest of the academy staff. Manuela was an entity to be feared, and one he did not know how to handle. Thankfully, she did not pursue him any further, and he made his way down the hall.

Hanneman's office was only a short distance away, and he was curious to know if the scholar had made any progress on his crest research. Byleth had already invested a substantial amount of himself into the project, and he felt a need to see it through to the end.

As expected, Hanneman was seated behind his desk; a look of deep concentration on his face. To his surprise, however, he was not alone.

"I cannot say for certain, but evidence seems to point to-"

Byleth entered the office, and both Hanneman and Tomas fell silent. The latter turned around, facing him with a gentle smile.

"Professor!" said the librarian. "We were just talking about you."

"Indeed." confirmed Hanneman. "Please, come in. You are no doubt curious to learn more about that crest of yours."

He motioned toward the instrument in the center of the office, and asked Byleth to approach it.

"I've made some minor adjustments, incorporating the samples you provided me a few days ago."

"Tomas has also gracefully shared some of his knowledge." Hanneman added, now smiling widely. "He tells me that the two of you have been performing some studies of your own. It warms my heart to hear of yet another crest enthusiast in the making!"

Tomas chuckled, while Byleth crouched and placed his palm against the surface of the apparatus.

"I would hardly call them studies, Hanneman, but yes. I see a great deal of potential in our young professor here."

The device flared to life, humming underneath his fingers. A moment later, and the image of a crest manifested itself a few feet above the floor.

The two old men gasped in unison.

"By the goddess…" whispered Hanneman. "I had my suspicions, but to see it with my own eyes…"

"The Crest of Flames." muttered Byleth; his hypothesis now proven correct. He was not one to argue the hands dealt to him by fate, but in this case, he dreaded the trouble bound to follow.

"Quite right, my boy." said Tomas. While he did not appear all too surprised, there was a glint in his eyes that had not been there previously.

He could not blame either of the men. Apparently, the crest was of great significance to the history of Fódlan.

Byleth would have to consult his father on the matter.

* * *

"Whatever you do, don't tell anyone about it."

Jeralt paced back and forth across his office, growling irritably, before burying his face in the palms of his hands.

"Who am I kidding, this'll probably become public knowledge by the end of the day."

Byleth nodded in agreement. While he could see Tomas willing to keep the nature of his crest a secret, Hanneman was much too passionate for that.

"Look, kid. I don't know how or why you've got that crest, but watch your back. You'll have plenty of influential people taking a keen interest in you, if you catch my drift."

"Easy money?"

Jeralt blinked, and then let out a bark of laughter.

"You know, I sometimes wonder if I taught you right." he said. "Then, you go along and say things like that, and I'm all reassured again."

"_I like him."_

Byleth liked his father as well. Jeralt had been the single constant in his life, and Byleth could not imagine living without him.

The rugged man then clasped his shoulder, and smiled.

"So, how's your first day as a professor treating you?"

"Well, I think. The students are… interesting."

Jeralt raised an eyebrow.

"That's akin to praise, coming from you." said his father, before smirking. Byleth had seen that expression before, and braced himself.

"Ah, but it all makes sense now. I've heard you spent some time with that princess girl… what's her name?"

"Edelgard." he replied instinctively.

"_Fool."_

"Oh, so that's what she's called? It came to you quicker than some of the mercenaries we've had around for years."

So that was the game his father was playing. Byleth allowed his own, tiny version of a smirk to form, and Jeralt immediately grew wary.

"Since you're so interested in romance, perhaps you'd like me to set up a date for you? I hear Professor Casagranda is availab-"

"Alright, kid. You win."

"_Well played."_

For a brief moment, he entertained the notion of revealing that his colleague had attempted to seduce him. Byleth pondered the benefits and drawbacks of witnessing his father's reaction, before dismissing the idea.

Manuela did not deserve to die.

"Ready for the mock battle?" asked Jeralt suddenly, no doubt in a bid to change the subject.

"We'll win."

He was confident of it. From what little he had gleaned of the other houses, the Golden Deer were an unorganized, undisciplined mess. The Blue Lions were better in that regard, but relied too heavily on physical fighters.

Between himself, Edelgard and Hubert, they could take out their opposition with little to no issues. Factor in someone like Petra, who was already skilled in the art of stealth, and it would almost be too easy.

"Don't get ahead of yourself." said Jeralt. "You have experience, but take care not to be caught off-guard."

_"He speaks wisely. The jester… Claude. You would do well to keep your eyes on him. The same goes for the fair-haired one."_

Byleth's answer remained the same.

* * *

"My teacher, you look pensive."

Byleth strode calmly out of the monastery's grounds, accompanied by his house. The next day had come quickly, and the mock battle was to take place in the outskirts of Garreg Mach. Apparently there was a wide expanse amidst the mountains, suitable for battle.

"I'm attempting to figure out what Professor Casagranda has planned for us."

Edelgard blinked at that; her face scrunching up in confusion.

"Claude, Hilda, Lorenz and Ignatz are the only students of hers carrying weapons. Yesterday, she nagged about the first three being – and I quote – brats and pesky little children."

Somewhere in the back, Byleth heard a bout of Hubert's chilling laughter. The ominous youth caught up to him, intent on sharing his thoughts.

"Perhaps the dear professor has already foreseen her defeat, and is merely issuing her punishment."

"_He has a point."_

"Alright!" said Jeralt, who lead the march from the front. "We're here."

All three houses and their respective professors came to a halt, and appraised their surroundings. There were fields stretching as far as the eye could see, divided by rocky hills and topped with patches of tall grass and trees.

Byleth nodded to himself, confident that he could use the terrain to his advantage.

"Now, this is only a mock battle, which is why you'll be using practice equipment. If you're knocked down or forced to yield to an opponent, that's it. You're out."

Jeralt narrowed his eyes; his gaze lingering on Claude. The tanned, mischievous boy was grinning wickedly, and Byleth could her Mercedes murmuring a soft sound of apprehension.

"Got it?"

"No need to tell me twice, Captain!" said Claude, offering a cheerful wave. "I heard you loud and clear!"

"Well then, to your posts. And make sure to put on a good show. I don't want the archbishop or Seteth breathing down my neck for the rest of the month."

"_I believe that statement was directed toward you, Byleth."_

He was aware.

A few minutes later, following Lady Rhea's best wishes and some ambiguous encouragement from Seteth, the Black Eagles' five champions found themselves smack in the center of the battlefield.

A small breeze tousled his hair, and Byleth prepared to issue his commands.

"Our goal shall be to rout the enemy." he said calmly; his eyes roaming across the lands in search of their foes. "The Golden Deer appear to have taken shelter to the west, while the Blue Lions have occupied the eastern plains."

Petra chose that moment to speak up, having securely fastened her bow to her back.

"Professor. I would be… No, I am wishing to pursue our prey to the west. There are trees where I can be hunting from."

"Acceptable." he said, giving a sharp nod, before turning to Edelgard and Hubert.

"The two of you shall deal with the Lions. Expect a frontal assault from Mister Blaiddyd and Mister Molinaro. Weaken them from a distance, and move in for the… knockout."

Byleth realized he was falling back on his mercenary habits, and hoped no one had noticed the slip. He would have to restrain himself in more ways than one, it seemed.

It was yet too early for the Ashen Demon to awake.

"What about you, Professor?" asked Ferdinand, the final student he had chosen for the battle. After his passionate declaration, Byleth did not have it in him to refuse the pompous noble.

_"Yes, what about you, Professor?"_

"I will be routing the enemy, of course." he said. "With you at my side."

Ferdinand's eyes widened briefly, before a broad smile spread out across his face.

Meanwhile, Byleth gripped the hilt of his wooden sword, giving it a light swing. While inferior to his regular weapon, the practice sword still balanced nicely in his hand.

He took a step forward and inhaled, feeling the rush of cool, alpine air filling his lungs.

"Let the lesson begin."

* * *

Far, far away from the sacred place of Garreg Mach, a young girl whooped in joy. She could hardly believe it, but she had been chosen.

Chosen to serve her people in the noblest and most distinguished of ways. Chosen to play a role in their quest for salvation.

Chosen to become one of the select few who would bring them light.

"This task is not to be taken lightly, Kronya."

The pale girl settled down, twirling a lock of her deep, orange hair between her fingers. Solon was right, of course, but she could not help it. Her chest bubbled with excitement, so much so that she thought her heart might burst.

"I know, I know. It's just, after all this time…"

She trailed off, looking down into the cold, metal floor below. For all of her life, she had been told the tragedy of the Agarthans. How they had been forced into hiding, all but exiled to the depths of Shambhala.

It made her angry, and Kronya wanted nothing more than to rip the primitive surface-dwellers apart, limb from limb, for their transgressions.

More than that, however, Kronya wished to see the sun. She wished to feel its warmth on her skin; the sting of its light in her eyes. She wanted to experience it all, and if she could make the _beasts_ suffer while doing so, all the better.

"Indeed." said Solon, nodding graciously. The venerable old mage was highly respected amongst the Agarthans, and Kronya was delighted to be working alongside him.

"However, there has been a change of plans."

She froze.

"It would seem that Monica von Ochs is needed at the academy... far earlier than we had previously anticipated."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Dark Abyss**_

_**Chapter 3: What Lies Ahead**_

* * *

"Duck."

Ferdinand dropped to the ground, narrowly managing to avoid a nasty blow to the side of his head.

Looming above him was Hilda, who pouted when she saw that her attack had missed its mark. Byleth admired the girl's strength from afar, marveling at the amount of power packed inside her tiny frame.

"Roll, and use your lance to regain your footing."

Then again, with his guidance, Ferdinand was proving himself quite the resilient warrior. The boy stood up quickly, assuming a proper stance once more. He was learning to keep his distance, and to let his foe wear herself down with relentless but exhausting strikes.

"No fair!" said Hilda, panting. "You've got a lance, and I only have this tiny axe!"

Byleth recalled an adage he had once heard, that all was fair in love and war.

"Aim for her knees."

Ferdinand crouched and executed a broad sweep of his lance, knocking a tired and surprised Hilda to the ground.

"Now, Ferdinand… You wouldn't hit a delicate flower like me, would you?"

Byleth, knowing the noble tendencies of his student, stepped forward. He placed the tip of his sword at her neck, seeing that Ferdinand had already begun to lower his guard, and that Hilda was drawing back her leg.

"Flowers can have thorns. Do you yield, Miss Goneril?"

Hilda sighed disappointedly, knowing that her ploy had failed. She pouted again, and glared daggers at Byleth.

"…Yes, Professor." she said. "I yield."

He removed his sword, and watched as the girl made her way back to the rest of her house.

"Professor, was that truly necessary? She was on the ground, defeated."

"She was readying herself to kick you in the groin, Mister Aegir."

Ferdinand spluttered in indignation.

"I- That is- How uncivilized!"

"Quite. It is also extremely effective." said Byleth. "Now, we should be on our way. I believe Miss Macneary has already eliminated Mister Victor and Mister Gloucester."

He paused.

It would be a gamble to let Ferdinand off on his own, but no matter how skilled of a duo Edelgard and Hubert were, they would be hard-pressed to take down the entirety of the Blue Lions on their own.

On the other hand, he did not expect Petra to hold up for much longer. Her natural talent as a hunter could only take her so far, and both Ignatz and Lorenz were relatively easy pickings. Once Claude and Manuela came to finish the job, she would be done for.

"We shall split up from here. Join with Miss Hresvelg and Mister Vestra, and remember to keep your distance. The reach of your lance is your greatest advantage."

"I will not fail you, Professor! Today, all shall witness the might of Ferdinand von…"

Byleth took off in a blur.

"…Aegir."

* * *

Byleth stalked silently through the thicket. He could hear the sound of creaking branches and vibrating bowstrings, and assumed that Petra must be near.

He also assumed that she was not alone.

When a high-pitched whistle reached his ears, Byleth weaved to the side. Someone had fired an arrow at him, and even managed to clip a few strands of his hair. Looking around, he spotted the arrow firmly embedded in the trunk of a tree.

"_That was close."_

Far too close, for his liking, not to mention that a mere practice bow should not be able to produce such speed and force.

"Drat! I was sure that would work."

Byleth spun around, only to see Claude dangling upside down from one of the trees. Beneath him stood Manuela, and her hands shone with the faintest traces of magic. Wind magic, if he recalled correctly.

She must have used it to accelerate the arrow.

"Well, it worked on Petra, but this is the professor we're talking about. It'll take much more to defeat him."

Claude swung around and hopped onto the ground, shaking some stray leaves off his uniform.

"You're right about that, Professor! Still, we've got to give it our best. If we can defeat Teach over there, the Black Eagles are as good as done for."

Byleth tensed, raising his sword. There was some merit to Claude's words, and he could see the Golden Deer claiming victory once the Blue Lions and his own students had tired each other out. All they needed were a few well-placed arrows, and spells.

Given that possibility, he would have no choice but to fight a two-on-one battle, and against a fellow professor at that. Both Claude and Manuela could attack at range, while he had to rely on getting up close and personal.

"_You could always have me turn back time, you know."_

He might be a mercenary willing to use the dirtiest tricks in the book, but that power was beyond cheating. Byleth refused.

"_Suit yourself."_

He broke out into a sprint; the unexpectedness catching both of his opponents by surprise. Halfway to his target, he slid, reaching down to fill his free hand with soil.

Manuela, lacking the time to cast even a single spell, met his charge with her own sword instead.

"I knew you were a gentleman, dear, but let me tell you something… 'Ladies first' doesn't apply to a fight."

Byleth ignored her quip, circling around her and making sure to keep her between himself and Claude. That way, he would not be able to fire his arrows for fear of hitting his ally.

They exchanged blows for a while, with neither of them gaining the upper hand. Manuela was a skilled swordswoman in her own right, and he assumed her gracefulness as a diva lent itself well to the battlefield.

"Ha!" she exclaimed, finally pushing Byleth on the defensive. Her sudden, rapid swings forced him back, until he eventually found himself cornered against a tree.

Unfortunately for Manuela, however, it was a ruse. He ducked, fully aware of the tree behind him, and allowed her sword to sail harmlessly above the air. The blade was caught in the bark, and not a second later, Byleth charged, shoving both of them down onto the ground.

He landed on top of her, and wasted no time in placing his sword against her neck.

"Yield." he demanded.

"Oh my, how naughty! Here, in the middle of the forest?"

"Yield." he repeated, and she sighed.

"Way to spoil the mood, Professor. Fine, I yield."

Byleth stood back up, only to find the point of an arrow pressing against his jugular. Claude smiled brightly, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

"You fought valiantly, Teach, but it ends here. I must admit, it was rather vexing not being able to let loose my arrows against you."

He shook his head and laughed. "Still, this makes up for it!"

"_Well, well… What will it be, Byleth? Turn back time, or suffer the humiliation of being defeated by a student?"_

He would do neither.

With a wave of his hand, Byleth threw the dirt he had collected straight into Claude's face. The boy coughed and blinked, instinctively reaching up to rub his eyes.

"H-Hey! That's-"

Byleth grabbed Claude's arm, twisting it until he was forced to let go of the arrow in his hand. Behind him, Manuela sighed again, this time even deeper and more profoundly than she had before.

Claude yielded, although not for lack of first trying to find his own way out. It took a good minute of bickering, and more than a few threatening motions on Byleth's part, but the last of the Golden Deer eventually gave in.

"If you don't win this, Teach, I'll be mad." said the boy, finally coming to terms with his defeat.

"For once, I agree with Claude." said Manuela. "I'll be most displeased if you lose after managing to defeat the both of us."

"And especially after rejecting me." she added; her voice turning sour.

"Twice."

She then grabbed her student's arm, and vanished in a flash of light.

"_Not bad."_

* * *

"And the winner of this mock battle is… the Black Eagle House!"

Byleth thought he sensed a hint of pride in his father's tone, especially toward the end. He thought it strange – Jeralt was not one for sappy, emotional statements.

Then again, neither was he. However, if this victory made his father happy in any way, Byleth was happy too.

It did not take long for them to regroup, and begin heading back toward the monastery. Manuela fussed over the students' wounds, casting multiple healing spells along the way. All in all, Byleth found himself quite satisfied with the outcome.

"You did well today." he said suddenly, looking over the four students that had battled alongside him. A strange sensation came over him, growing from deep within his chest.

"_Oh? Is that perhaps a hint of pride as well?"_

It was true that his students had fought well. Much better than Byleth had anticipated, as a matter of fact. Petra had succeeded in eliminating two enemies alone, while the trio of Edelgard, Hubert and Ferdinand had proven superior to the entirety of the Blue Lion House.

If Hanneman had any actual battle experience, however, things may not have gone as smoothly.

"Thank you, my teacher." said Edelgard, who was smiling brightly. She looked about as happy as when they had shared a meal together, if not more.

Hubert merely nodded, but he could spy a hint of a smirk along the corner of his lips. Ferdinand and Petra straightened up; the former with a dignified puff of his chest and the latter with a determined nod.

"We gained a victory because of your great leadership, Professor." said Petra. "It was impressing- I mean, impressive."

Byleth shook his head.

"No, Miss Macneary. You fought with skill and cunning. Miss Hresvelg and Mister Vestra overcame their challenges with synergy and precision. Finally, Mister Aegir showed great tenacity and resolve."

He paused, thinking over his words.

"I had little to do with it."

"_More than a hint, it seems. Look at you, all full of pride!"_

His students said nothing in response, instead averting their eyes. He spotted blushes on their cheeks, with the only exception being Hubert, whose face unsurprisingly remained pale as snow.

"I- That's- Praise isn't necessary, really…" stammered Edelgard; who had turned away in an attempt to hide her flustered countenance.

"_To think that the princess could make such an adorable figure! If only I could reach out and pat her on the head."_

Thankfully, Sothis did not have a body of her own. Byleth could only imagine the inconveniences she would stir up.

"_Phooey!"_

"You are very kind, Professor." Petra said happily. "I will be making sure to get more praise soon!"

"Indeed!" confirmed Ferdinand. "I am quite pleased."

Hubert scoffed.

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

* * *

"_Bandits? How strange…"_

The next day, Byleth crossed the bridge leading to the cathedral, which was the only place he had not yet explored. For some reason, it seemed unimportant, at least in the face of his other duties.

Nevertheless, Lady Rhea had asked him to familiarize himself with the teachings of the church, and the cathedral seemed like the right place to do so.

She had also informed him of the next task his house would face. Apparently, the same gang of bandits that had pursued the three house leaders were held up in Zanado, the Red Canyon. They were to dispatch of them, and it would serve as the students' first true taste of war.

In other words, it was there that they were to become killers.

"_That place. I sense something familiar about it. Like home, and yet…"_

Sothis trailed off, and Byleth decided not to press the matter. She had acted strangely ever since hearing of it, and although he would not admit it, he preferred her usual, cheerful, annoying persona over a dreary and distant one.

"_Did I hear you correctly, Byleth? I must be dreaming."_

Then again, things were always subject to change – even opinions.

"Dear Goddess, I ask for guidance…"

The soft, melancholic voice of a blue-haired girl brought him back to reality, and Byleth found himself walking up to the praying student.

Marianne stood in the center of the cathedral; head bowed and both of her hands clasped together. Hearing his approach, the girl turned around, greeting him with a kind yet surprised expression.

"Professor! I suppose you came by to pray too?

He shook his head.

"Not exactly." he said. "I'm just passing by. You seemed rather deep in prayer, however."

"Oh, um… Well… It's nothing specific."

"_A blatant lie if I have ever heard one."_

"I only call upon the goddess to give thanks, or perhaps to ask for protection." she explained, before fidgeting nervously on the spot.

"Anyhow, I should be on my way."

Byleth interrupted the girl in the middle of her awkward bow.

"Please, Miss Edmund, stay for a while."

"Ah!" she exclaimed in shock. "You know my name? I never thought…"

"I've made it a point to memorize the names of each of this year's students. The chance that I'll be instructing you in the near future is far from slim."

"Oh… Um. Okay."

"…"

Marianne stood in silence, looking extremely uncomfortable. Byleth wondered what could have possibly caused this behavior from the girl, making her nearly as shy and withdrawn as Bernadetta.

"Sorry. I don't really know what to say. I didn't interact with people too often before I came here."

"_I wonder why." _

"Neither did I." said Byleth. "I mostly kept to myself outside of battle."

Most of his conversations prior to becoming a professor had been with his father, and even then, they had been rather sparse. He only ever spoke with other people when necessary, such as to issue commands or exchange words with the odd merchant or two.

"Oh… You seem to have a knack for it, Professor. You're always so, um… confident."

"I try." said Byleth, appreciative of Marianne's words. Sothis had once said he was too stone-faced, but apparently it was not an entirely bad thing.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Edmund. And please remember, as a professor of this academy I am to help all students, regardless of house."

"I… see." whispered Marianne.

"You don't always need to turn to the goddess for advice."

With that, Byleth began to walk away, curious to see what lay beyond the altar in the cathedral's main hall. The flicker of a candle shone from the right, and as he made his way toward it, he discovered a small chapel.

Four great statues were placed symmetrically along the walls of the chapel; their beauty marred by the effects of time. A little polishing would go a long way in restoring them, he thought, and wondered what the reason behind their current state could be.

"_I agree. It is a shame to see such craftsmanship neglected."_

"Taken an interest in the statues of the four saints, have you, Professor?"

Tomas' soft, wizened tone was instantly recognizable, and Byleth turned around to face the man. He was surprised to see the librarian outside of his domain, but greeted him in turn all the same.

"A fleeting curiosity, at most. Do you know why they are so… dirty?"

The old man chuckled; his laugh resounding across the chapel.

"Out of all replies, I must admit I did not expect that particular one. I'm also afraid I cannot answer you, as it is a mystery that eludes even me. Perhaps the church has little funds to spare in these anxious times."

"_Anxious times?" _

Byleth repeated Sothis' question, and Tomas elaborated. His eyes turned downcast, and his posture slumped.

"I forget how little you know of Fódlan, Professor. In truth, I envy that about you."

"The Insurrection of the Seven." said Tomas, before continuing. "The war between Dagda and Brigid, The Tragedy of Duscur…"

The librarian trailed off toward the end.

"No doubt you have heard mention of these events, if not in passing, then at least within the books I have loaned you over these last few days. Why, only last year, a student disappeared from these very grounds. Something is stirring, Professor, and a great many things are about to change."

__"_A student went missing? Why have we not heard of this from the archbishop?"_

Byleth, too, was stunned. Such a thing would mean the monastery is suffering a serious breach in its defenses. Of course, the student may have simply run away, but he would still have liked to know.

"I could not help but overhear your conversation with that poor, young girl. You're doing a great deed in reaching out to her. Blind faith and reliance on the goddess to overcome all hardship is… ill-advised."

He agreed with the librarian wholeheartedly. A mercenary won no battles, and most certainly made no money, with such a state of mind.

"Sadly…" said Tomas. "It is a mentality the church encourages."

"_I, for one, could not imagine being so dependent. Not on anyone! No matter who they may be."_

Byleth resisted the urge to comment on the irony of that statement.

"_Ours is a special case."_

"Oh, dear." Tomas said suddenly. "I fear I've occupied far too much of your time. I even forgot the reason why I wished to speak with you in the first place."

The librarian smiled widely.

"Congratulations on your victory! Unfortunately, I was unable to attend the mock battle, but I hear the Black Eagles performed splendidly. They are most fortunate to have you as their professor."

Something tugged at the corners of Byleth's lips.

"Thank you, Tomas."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Dark Abyss_**

**_Chapter 4:_**_ **Life and Death**_

* * *

Byleth awoke to the sound of soft snoring; his face buried deeply within a mass of verdant hair. He could not smell nor feel any of the long, flowing locks, but the sight of them was clear nonetheless.

He made sure to extract himself silently from the bed, lest he suffer Sothis' wrath.

The impish, little girl refused to fade back into his subconscious. Ever since she had found a way to manifest physically, she seemed intent on spending as much time hovering around in the world as she could.

Byleth did not blame her. It must have been extraordinarily dreary to live as naught but a ghost; little more than a figment of someone else's imagination.

However, he did not expect to find the girl in such close proximity to him. Chances were, neither did she, and he had no intention of testing that theory. If his experience with Manuela was anything to go by, women of all kinds were terrifying and unpredictable.

He would rather go toe-to-toe with a dozen demonic beasts than experience anything remotely similar again. It was a miracle that Byleth had not yet been cursed with nightmares.

Successful in his endeavor, he proceeded to dress himself in his customary outfit and armor, before heading out of his quarters. Class was due to begin in an hour, and he had preparations to make.

The students had taken well to his first lectures, and appeared to be getting along with each other nicely. Ferdinand, who had long since abandoned the hope of getting out of stable duty, now seemed to have developed an interest in horses.

Byleth was only happy to encourage him, not-so-subtly pointing out that noble knights were often riders. Knowing how to take care of a horse would go a long way in reaching such a goal, should he be interested.

Needless to say, the boy immediately took to his work with newfound vigor. Ferdinand was also determined to improve his skills with the lance, which only served to set him further along that path.

Edelgard was perhaps his most talented student, at least as of now. She was strong and intelligent, and skilled with an axe. She had room to grow like everyone else, of course, but was already confident enough to work independently.

If anything, what she truly needed to learn was to rely on others and not just herself.

Petra and Bernadetta were instead more interested in the ways of the bow, just as Hubert, Dorothea and Linhardt shared a remarkable aptitude for reason and faith magic.

Dorothea, however, sadly shared more than a few traits with Manuela, and Byleth's mind raced with ideas as to how he should approach her.

Finally, Caspar would prove the most troublesome to teach. Not for lack of effort or motivation, but simply due to his energetic and juvenile personality. If there was anyone in his class whom Byleth wished would not join them in their fight against the bandits, it would be Caspar.

He did not believe the boy truly understood what he would be getting himself into. It would sink in only later, perhaps in several months' worth of time, and hit him like a ton of bricks.

Bearing those thoughts in mind, he made his way inside the classroom of the Black Eagle House. None of his students had yet to arrive, which was understandable this early in the morning. They were probably still eating breakfast, something Byleth rarely found himself partaking in.

He sat down behind his desk; setting down his papers. Today, he would be changing things up a little, and venture into slightly darker territory.

Ideally, Byleth would have wanted to slowly ease the students into the idea of taking another life. With the archbishop's command, however, there was little time for such luxuries. They had to know, and they had to know it bluntly.

It was not a truth to be sugar-coated, or danced around with poetic wording.

In two weeks' time, they would become killers.

* * *

"Good morning."

The students replied in chorus; their voices resounding across the classroom. They had filled in quickly, no doubt excited to do something new.

"_If only they knew."_

"I see that you've brought writing utensils." continued Byleth, looking over his students in approval. "Good. You'll be needing them for the first half of this lecture."

At their inquisitive gazes, he elaborated.

"In two hours' time, we'll be joining Professor von Hrym in the training grounds. A practical demonstration should serve as… encouragement for your endeavors."

Edelgard raised her hand.

"A demonstration? Do you intend to spar with Professor Jeritza?"

"That is correct, Miss Hresvelg. He has been kind enough to accept my request."

Byleth then stood up from his chair, ignoring the students' excited whispers, and approached the chalkboard beside him. He had prepared a rudimentary sketch of a human being, just accurate enough to serve its purpose.

"Before that, however…" he began; tapping the chalkboard with his finger. "We'll be discussing how to kill a man."

The chattering died down, or in Bernadetta's case, was replaced by a fearful whimper. Only Hubert and Edelgard appeared unaffected, and even then, he could spy a widening of the princess' eyes.

"You'll be fighting bandits by the end of the month. These people are scum, in every sense of the word, and won't hesitate to cut you down and strip you of your valuables."

"Or worse." he added, letting the implication hang in the air. During his time as a mercenary, Byleth had witnessed many things, some of which made even him turn his head away in disgust.

"As such…" he continued. "You can't afford to show any hesitation."

"But enough of that. Tell me, which are the vital parts of a human body?"

His question seemed to snap the students out of a trance, and they adopted thoughtful expressions. Hubert smirked rather cruelly, and lifted his hand into the air.

"The head." he said.

"Correct." said Byleth, and picked up a piece of chalk.

"More specifically, the brain. Regardless of your weapon of choice, you should aim for your enemies' eyes, forehead and temples."

He marked said places with a cross, before repeating the question. Now, more students had raised their hands, and he allowed them to speak freely.

"The lungs." said Ferdinand.

"Professor, I am knowing one." said Petra. "The… liver?" she said, stumbling over the word.

"Kidneys." added Linhardt, looking slightly pale.

Byleth nodded, marking down all of the areas. He was surprised to see Bernadetta raise her hand, and would have missed it were it not for his keen eyesight.

"T- The heart." she stammered. "You can't l-live without a h-heart."

The timid girl then quickly lowered her head, attempting to hide behind her hair.

"Yes…" Byleth said eventually. "That's correct, Miss Varley. No one can live without a heart."

He made a second cross over the chest of his sketch, next to the lungs.

They had adequately covered all of the vital organs, but it would do little good against a competent opponent. Thankfully, bandits were rarely such, but a professor worth his salt would prepare them regardless.

"Good work." he said. "However, where will you strike against a foe wearing armor, or a foe knowledgeable enough to guard themselves?"

The silence grew thick and almost oppressive, as most of the students realized they had little experience outside of textbook scenarios or the odd scuffle now and then.

"Magic." said Hubert. "No amount of armor will guard against magic."

"Perhaps." admitted Byleth. "For this reason, it is beneficial to possess at least a basic knowledge of magic. However, what if you find yourself alone, faced by multiple enemies in close quarters?"

When no one spoke for a good while, he shook his head.

"You run."

He gave his blankest stare, making sure to impress the worth of not throwing your life away.

"There is no honor in war. You either live to fight another day, or you die, and leave your comrades with fewer numbers to do the fighting."

Byleth would do all that he could to ensure his students' survival, even if it meant to beat the notion of bravery and heroism out of their minds.

"If you find yourselves outmatched or outnumbered, you run. You regroup with your allies, and you devise a different strategy. Do you understand?"

They all nodded, looking suitably unnerved.

"Good. In that case, follow me. It's time to head outside."

* * *

"_The poor children… You have bothered them greatly."_

There was no other way, thought Byleth. Better now, than on the eve of battle. In any case, he was prepared to compensate for every last one of them, if he had to.

Even if it meant letting the demon loose.

He knew that between the Ashen Demon and a battalion of his father's troops, no number of bandits would stand a chance. Whether the students would return to the monastery scarred beyond comprehension or not, was a different matter entirely.

"_Let us hope it does not come to that."_

For once, he agreed with Sothis.

"Professor…" drawled a lazy, almost apathetic voice. "You are here."

Jeritza stood ready in the center of the training grounds; his lance resting against the cobblestone pavement. He wore his mask, as always, which covered the top half his face.

Something gnawed at the back of his mind, and surprisingly, it was not Sothis. As he looked upon the mysterious combat instructor, Byleth could not help but sense a hint of familiarity. It was as though he had seen him before, and something was urging him to remember where.

"I am." he replied. "Thank you for your time."

Jeritza hummed, shaking his head. "There is no need for pleasantries… Let us fight."

Byleth walked over to the weapon rack, picking out a lance of his own. While it was not his preferred weapon, he was skilled enough in its use, courtesy of his father. Jeralt was perhaps the most proficient lancer in all of Fódlan.

Noticing Jeritza's subtle impatience, he turned toward his students. They had assembled a short distance away, close enough to see, but just far enough to not accidentally come in the way.

"This won't be a simple spar." he said. "Short of dismembering or killing each other, neither Professor von Hrym or I will be holding back."

He heard a few gasps, but paid them little heed.

"Pay close attention, as you may learn something important enough to save your lives."

Byleth turned back and faced Jeritza, and the two exchanged a nod. They fell into their respective stances, and began to slowly circle one another.

Jeritza showed no discernable opening, which spoke volumes of his skill. Many lancers allowed at least an opening or two, thinking that the reach of their weapon could make up for it.

In truth, it often could, and the lack of a full guard made it easier to advance and attack. In the cases where it could not, however, those lancers found their lifespans shortened abruptly.

Suddenly, Jeritza sprung forward, attempting to stab the tip of his lance into Byleth's stomach.

He pivoted in response; the lance meeting nothing but air as it sailed past him. He kicked upward, and managed to catch the shaft of Jeritza's weapon with the tip of his boot.

Showing no surprise, the masked man wasted little time in bringing his lance back down, forcing Byleth to guard against it with his own weapon. Both of their lances pushed against each other, with Jeritza meeting him overhead and attempting to push Byleth to the ground with sheer strength.

Both men grunted with effort, neither willing to give out first. Of course, that could prove a useful feint in itself.

He dropped to the ground, seemingly overpowered, and heard a few of his students let out a worried cry. Using the momentum of the fall, Byleth rolled backward, narrowly avoiding a painful stab to his thigh.

He immediately extended his own lance, swinging it in a wide arc and managing to sweep Jeritza of his feet. Unfortunately, even in mid-fall, his foe was focused enough to reach out with his leg, landing a solid kick to his jaw.

"_Byleth! Are you hurt?"_

He shook his head, quickly fighting off the disorientation that followed the blow. Jeritza was surprisingly nimble, given his tall stature. He would not give the man such an opportunity again.

"Impressive." Byleth spoke honestly; seeing that the other man was already back on his feet.

"A decent warm-up…" replied Jeritza. "Now… Fight."

"That w-was a warm-up?" Bernadetta whispered meekly, hiding in the sidelines behind Ferdinand. The boy could only nod in a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"It would seem so. It is a humbling experience, to be sure."

Meanwhile, Jeritza was advancing once more. His strikes were now quicker and sharper, and Byleth found himself truly pushed on the defensive.

A jab. A sweep. A flat blow of the shaft. Jeritza was utilizing every offensive move imaginable, all while forcing him to the far end of the training grounds.

It was clear the man had held back in the beginning, despite agreeing not to. Perhaps it had been his own way of testing Byleth; making sure that he was a worthy opponent.

As the thought crossed his mind, he felt a sharp sting in his arm, and realized that Jeritza's lance had torn through the seam of his sleeve. The cool metal of his weapon cut deeply into his skin, finding the only place not covered by his vambraces.

Blood splattered onto the stone below, and Edelgard's voice reached his ears.

"Professor!" she exclaimed, in tandem with Sothis, both of whom sounded almost frightened with concern. It was odd, he thought, yet at the same time touching.

It was also completely unnecessary.

Byleth ignored the pain in his arm, leaning fully onto his lance. It was a technique his father had taught him, which entailed the use of the lance as a pole. He kicked off from the ground; his weapon allowing him to vault over a surprised Jeritza.

The man barely had enough time to turn around, when Byleth unsheathed his secondary weapon – the dagger he always wore on his belt.

A second later, the dagger was firmly placed at his opponent's throat.

"Yield."

Behind the mask, Byleth thought that Jeritza's eyes must have traced the blade to his neck. They had not spoken of using multiple weapons, but then again, they had not spoken against it either.

More importantly, however, there was no such thing as a fair fight.

Instead of yielding, the man suddenly laughed. It was a cold, silent laugh, yet undeniably clear. It also sounded completely foreign, almost awkwardly so, as though the man had never laughed before.

"We shall fight again, Professor." said Jeritza; his strange laugh fading away. Without as much as a good-bye, he then proceeded to leave. The students, all of whom had been stunned into silence, scrambled to give him a wide berth.

"Again… and again… and again…"

* * *

"Professor, that was amazing!" shouted Caspar.

"Yes, Professor. I am feeling very impressed." said Petra.

"An acceptable performance." Hubert muttered off-handedly, even if his eyes told another story.

Once back inside the classroom, the students had begun to shower Byleth with praise. It was ironic, he thought, considering that was something a professor should be doing.

"Thank you." he said. "Now, can any of you tell me why I won?"

"Because you were stronger?" said Caspar.

He shook his head.

"Because Professor Jeritza underestimated you?" guessed Dorothea.

"No, but you're getting closer."

"Because you caught him by surprise?" asked Edelgard, who sat at the very front of his class. Her violet eyes shone with admiration, and she looked at him expectantly.

"Precisely." confirmed Byleth. "Professor von Hrym is more skilled with a lance than I. He also holds a height advantage, and therefore an advantage in reach as well. He even managed to draw blood."

He looked toward Linhardt, and nodded in gratitude. The young boy had offered to heal his wound following the spar, reducing the pain to nothing more than a dull ache.

"By all accounts, he should have won. However, by managing to catch him by surprise, the tables turned in an instant."

"_I do say! I must admit I believed you were done for, and that I would have to turn back the hands of time to save you from disgrace."_

He truly did appreciate Sothis' confidence in him. If he was to have a second entity sharing his mind, it was at least nice to know that it supported him and believed in him.

"_Oh, alright… Sorry."_

Byleth would treasure that apology forever.

"In other words, catching your opponent by surprise can be the difference between life and death. If you find yourself running out of options, try to do something unexpected."

Following that statement, the bell rang, and he dismissed his class. They began to pack their things, no doubt hungry after such a mentally exhausting morning.

"Oh…" he said, stopping the students short of leaving the classroom. "Before you leave, know that the remainder of our classes will be practical."

Until the day of their mission, he would be focusing solely on combat practice.

"There will be no need for writing utensils, and be sure to dress appropriately."

"Yes, Professor!"

* * *

Kronya tapped her leg impatiently. The Red Canyon was awfully dull, and she could hardly wait until the day the church finally arrived. While she would not be able to attack them, much to her annoyance, she would hopefully get to witness a few of the bastards choking to death on their own blood.

The same went for the filthy bandits she was being forced to associate with. The damp cave they were hiding in did little to improve her mood, and she cursed their existence.

When the leader of the band approached her, Kronya sighed in audible contempt.

"What is it, dog?"

Kostas narrowed his eyes as he approached her.

"I don't know what that masked freak has planned out, but I'll be keeping an eye on you."

Kronya giggled at his description of the Flame Emperor. Maybe she would find some amusement here, after all. That is, until someone lopped Kostas' head cleanly off his shoulders, which would prove even more amusing.

She was not fond of the tone he took toward her.

"No need to worry your tiny, little brain with that." she said, twirling an ornate dagger in her hand. The weapon had been handed down in her family for ages, and now it belonged to her.

The thought of stabbing it into someone's neck had her cackling.

"Mad wench." muttered Kostas, and headed back to whatever hole he crawled out of.

There was something else, however – something that had been on her mind for a while. While not in great detail, Solon had explained the reason for their change of plans.

Byleth Eisner.

The second coming of Nemesis, by the sound of it.

She paused, and corrected herself.

The second coming of Nemesis, with a brain. If Solon was right, and he ended up fighting for the Agarthans, their dream might actually end up fulfilled.

He was already powerful, and possessed the Crest of Flames. All he needed was the Sword of the Creator, and he would have the entire package. Given that potential, it made sense for Monica to return to the academy.

If she joined his class, she could gauge him. She could speak with him, influence him, and learn what made him tick.

Oddly enough, Kronya found herself looking forward to it.

"I'm waiting for you, Professor…" she said, and giggled.

"Hurry up and rescue me."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Dark Abyss**_

_**Chapter 5: Demon of the Red Canyon**_

* * *

"_This… This does not feel right. Sending students into battle…"_

Byleth lowered his head, hiding a small frown as he marched alongside his students. They had set out a few hours ago, and troubled thoughts had plagued him ever since. Granted, he had enlisted some of his father's mercenaries, and the church had provided the support of a few of their knights, yet he could not shake the feeling of unease in his mind.

Zanado, the Red Canyon.

The name, not to mention the place, raised a great number of questions. The archbishop had told him next to nothing, and not even his own father had much to share. Byleth wondered if that was simply due to a lack of knowledge, or because Lady Rhea would not allow that either.

Jeralt's presence on the battlefield would have made things much easier, but no less educational. He could have bolstered the students' morale, as well as shared his considerable leadership experience. Not having him along for this mission was, to put it frankly, an utterly daft decision.

"_Indeed. The archbishop… Her reasoning eludes me."_

A mercenary then tapped him on the shoulder, and Byleth looked over to see the armored man pointing toward a cliff in the distance.

"Demon, over there-"

He stared pointedly; the narrowing of his eyes cutting the man off.

"I mean, sir." corrected the mercenary. "Over there, in the distance. A trail of smoke… It must be the bandits."

Byleth concurred. Most likely the ragtag group of bandits had set up camp atop the canyon's cliffs, and lit a fire for food or warmth.

"_Could it be a trap? Surely, not even bandits could be so foolish."_

He shook his head. He had seen a lot of foolishness before, and this did not even come close to reaching the top of the list.

"_Mortals…"_

Byleth raised his hand, effectively bringing the marching to a halt. He turned around, facing his students and the handful of troops they were to command.

"The enemy has been sighted." he said, motioning toward the towering pillar of smoke.

"It won't be long before they learn of our arrival. Without knowledge of their numbers or formations, the element of surprise will be critical to ensure an easy victory."

At worst, the bandits were already aware of their arrival. They currently held the high ground, and should be able to spot their approach from a mile away. Not even the Oghma Mountains' many crooks, hills and thick-leaved trees could hide them this far up.

"Professor." said Petra, who was readying her bow. "I am seeing a bridge up ahead. After the bridge, the path is splitting. Perhaps we can be attempting a…"

The girl faltered, having trouble to find the right word.

"Oh, I get it!" said Caspar excitedly. "A pincer attack!"

"Yes, that is it! Many thanks, Caspar."

The boy rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, refusing to meet Petra's eyes. He let out a hesitant laugh, and shook off the thanks.

"A good idea." said Byleth. "Miss Macneary, Miss Hresvelg and Mister Vestra will lead the charge along the western trail."

They all commanded a battalion of their own, and were the most capable of acting responsibly alone. However, they would still require someone to back them up in case of an emergency.

"Mister Hevring." he said, looking at Linhardt. "I will be counting on you to aid your classmates."

The perpetually sleepy boy nodded, but it was still not good enough. It was one thing to let his students work alone in the mock battle, and another thing entirely when they were faced with the threat of death.

"My mercenaries will be accompanying you as well."

The troops nodded in response.

"That leaves Mister Aegir, Mister Bergliez, Miss Arnault and Miss Varley. You'll be assisting me in a frontal assault."

"_I see. You're keeping the… problematic ones close at hand."_

He supposed that was one way to look at it.

* * *

"_Are these…?"_

Sothis' question barely registered in his mind, when Byleth threw himself at Bernadetta.

"Get down!" he shouted; landing on top of the girl and sending them both tumbling into the ground.

The girl yelped in surprise, only seconds before a blade cut through the space where her head had been. Byleth quickly rolled off her, springing to his feet and shoving his dagger through the bottom of the assailant's jaw.

Blood spurted out of the bandit's wound, painting his arm with a crimson color. As he was considering the effort it would take to wash the stains away, Bernadetta let out a terrifying scream.

"Calm yourself, Miss Varley." said Byleth. "There may be other bandits in hiding nearby."

The girl quieted down; her screams reduced to whimpers and heavy, suppressed breaths.

"P-P-Professor…" she stammered; eyes wide and face pale with fear.

"Stay close to me and nock another arrow. I'm counting on you."

The group advanced, with Bernadetta now pressing herself into Byleth's side with surprising strength. She gripped her bow with trembling hands; looking anxiously from side to side in search of other enemies.

Ferdinand covered their backs; his lance at the ready. Dorothea and Caspar held their flanks, with the latter eagerly awaiting a foe to greet with his gauntlets.

"Stay strong, Bern!" said Dorothea. "And don't worry, we'll protect you."

He could make out the distant shapes of his students sneaking up along the western path of the cliff, coming into sight from time to time as they snuck between ruins of ancient buildings.

"_Yes! That is what I was thinking. But ruins of what, exactly? I cannot help but sense an odd familiarity to these… walls. The architecture…"_

It was something to be investigated later, that was for certain. As they rounded a particularly tall stone mural, Byleth heard a rustle and the sound of boots kicking at dirt and grass.

"Professor!" exclaimed Caspar. "Here they come!"

Half a dozen bandits suddenly rushed out of hiding, sprinting toward them at full speed. They held their weapons high above their heads; all roaring their war-cries.

"Stay calm, and brace yourselves. Aim low."

"Or we can just bash their faces in!"

Caspar took off, breaking away from their circle. He met the bandits' charge head on; engaging two of them at once.

"_Idiot!"_

Luckily, there were still a few seconds before the rest of the enemies caught up to him. Byleth raced after his student, abandoning three shell-shocked students behind.

"Cover us! Miss Varley, on my mark!" he yelled; drawing his sword and diving straight into the group of foes.

A surge of strength passed through his body, and Byleth leapt above two surprised bandits with ease.

"_Oh! That was-"_

He brought his sword down on the men; the force of the blow knocking them to the ground. There was not enough time to finish them off, however, with Caspar just having received a slash to his side.

Byleth threw his dagger, forcing Caspar's attacker to divert his attention.

"Fall back! To your classmates, now!"

The boy scrambled back at that, avoiding a close swing at his neck. Caspar hastily retreated, clutching his abdomen, while Ferdinand and Dorothea placed themselves between him and his pursuers.

Ferdinand wasted no time, using his lance to hold the two foes at bay. Dorothea waved her hands, summoning a circle of magic to prepare a spell. The air crackled around her, with small sparks of electricity giving away the nature of the spell.

Meanwhile, Byleth found himself surrounded by four men, and scanned the battlefield. They were not far from the bandits' camp, and most likely, this ambush had been meant to stave them off in a last-ditch effort to protect their leader.

"Surrender, and the church will show you mercy."

One of the bandits laughed incredulously at that, and stomped the ground in a mixture of anger and indignation.

"You out of yer' mind, or something? There's four of us, and one of you. That treasure's ours, and we're keepin' it!"

"Have it your way, then." said Byleth. "Now!" he shouted, and an arrow shot past his face and into the gloating man's head.

It pierced his eye, killing him instantly.

"W-What?!"

The lifeless body dropped to the ground, hitting solid rock with a dull thud. The other bandits drew back in shock, before noticing Bernadetta standing a short distance away. Apparently, her shaking arms did nothing to hinder her skill as a marksman.

She stood in silence, however, and Byleth knew that the kill was slowly settling in.

"Why… you! I'll kill you for that!"

One of the men charged past Byleth, intent on avenging his comrade. When he noticed both Ferdinand and Dorothea were still occupied protecting Caspar, his blood ran cold.

"Damn!" he growled, and chased after the thug; giving little thought to the other two.

"Miss Varley! Defend yourself!" he yelled, hoping to get through to the girl. She merely stood there, however, looking down at her hands.

"Bernadetta!"

She snapped out of her trance, only to see the rapidly approaching bandit. Her instincts must have kicked in, because she leapt out of the way.

Unfortunately, the blade still struck home.

She avoided decapitation, but received a nasty cut to her neck all the same. Blood poured out of her jugular, and she let out a gurgling scream.

"_No!"_

Byleth saw red.

Power surged through his body once more, and he brought his sword down on the bandit from behind. The man was cleaved in two; split from shoulder to waist in a fountain of gore.

He rushed to the girl, who was desperately clutching her neck. He tore off his cloak, ripping it to shreds in the process, and wrapped it tightly around Bernadetta's throat.

"_Is she? I can always…"_

She would live.

The cut was not as deep as he had feared, but Bernadetta would not be fighting anymore today. Byleth laid her down gently, and turned to face the remainder of the bandits with fury he had rarely felt before.

"W-W-We surrender! We surrender!"

Both Bernadetta and Caspar were out for the count, and Ferdinand and Dorothea had dealt with their enemies. Only two more enemies remained, both of whom had now thrown their weapons down and dropped to their knees.

They looked at him in terror; eyes darting between him and the two halves of their late crony.

Sadly for them, the Ashen Demon left no survivors.

"No." he said coldly.

"You die."

* * *

It was glorious, thought Kronya.

A blur of black and red, cutting through his enemies like butter. Blood stained nearly every part of his body, including his face, but it only served to enhance his visage.

He was approaching quickly, making his way up the mountain, while his students and troops trailed along behind.

Solon had hit the nail on the head with his assessment. For every bandit his students killed, the professor killed three. Truly, he was an instrument of death and destruction.

A demon in human form.

How fitting, she thought, if he ended up joining them. It was only right for a demon to lead the forces of the underworld – of Shambhala – against their oppressors above.

She laughed.

"What are you… Are you laughing? Do you think this is funny?! My men are being slaughtered!"

Kronya shrugged, uncaring of Kostas' distress.

She stood next to him outside their abominable cavern, in front of the fire they had been instructed to light. They were at the very peak of the cliff looking over the Red Canyon, with widely different expectations of what was to come.

"So?" she asked. "Why should I care about filthy beasts like you?"

"Curse you!" he snarled. "Where are those damned reinforcements? And why aren't you out there helping them?!"

She laughed again.

The professor and his little army were nearly upon them, and she decided to have some fun. If there was something she delighted in, it was rubbing salt in an open wound.

"I think it's time I let you in on a little secret."

Kronya reached inside her boot; taking out a small vial. It was crimson in color, which was unsurprising seeing as it held blood inside. It had a soft glow to it, however, indicating that it had been tampered with in a magical manner.

She uncorked the vial and brought it to her lips, before gulping down the liquid.

"W-What's that?" asked Kostas, covering his eyes when her body began to glow. A second later, the light died down, and a completely different girl stood in Kronya's place.

"No! I promise I'll be good. Please don't hurt me, Mister!"

"What the hell?"

"What did you think?" asked Monica, running a hand through her scarlet hair.

"Was I convincing enough? Do you think the dear professor will come to my rescue, defeat the big, bad thief and hold me in his arms?"

She giggled.

"I'm so hurt, after all. Spending an entire year as a hostage for a group of vicious bandits… Why, that's bound to traumatize any girl, wouldn't you say?"

Monica smirked cruelly as Kostas' face shifted through a range of different emotions. She spotted confusion, disbelief and betrayal, before it finally settled on understanding.

He took a step back, snarling.

"I knew it! I never should've trusted that damned Flame Emperor! There aren't any reinforcements coming, are there?!"

Kostas gripped his axe; his pupils dilating with anger. Monica realized belatedly that she was at a disadvantage in her current form, and backed away.

"If I'm going to die, I'm taking you with me!"

"No, wait!"

She dropped to the ground and raised her hands, shielding her face, but the blow never came.

"You'll be doing no such thing."

A hand had gripped Kostas' arm, preventing him from striking her with his axe. A yank brought the bandit around, before a gloved fist struck him squarely in the face.

He was sent away tumbling, cradling his broken jaw as he lay indisposed.

Monica looked up at her savior, meeting the professor's cold, azure eyes. The timing was perfect, and she used the opportunity to break out in fake tears.

"H-Help me…" she whispered softly, between a few sobs. "I want to go h-home."

"I recognize that girl!" exclaimed a familiar voice. Edelgard had walked up beside the professor; axe in hand. She, too, was stained with blood and dirt, and panted exhaustedly.

"That's Monica von Ochs! She went missing from the academy a year ago."

His eyes widened at that, and he took a closer look at her.

"You're alive…" he said, and she found herself marveling at his voice. It was quiet and soft, contrasting sharply to his bloody appearance.

Monica then threw herself into his arms, nuzzling against his chest and adding tears to the numerous splotches on his outfit. He stiffened, before bringing an arm around her comfortingly.

She made sure to shake in a convincingly frightened manner, peering up at him from below.

"H-He… They d-did things…" she stuttered. "Please… Just…"

"Hush." said the professor; his voice still quiet. However, the softness was gone, replaced with steel.

He still held her tightly, but she could feel him turning his head.

"Miss Hresvelg."

"Yes, my teacher. I understand."

A second later, the sound of metal meeting flesh reached Monica's ears. She snuggled deeper into the professor's chest in response, and unbeknownst to all, she smiled.

Everything was proceeding as planned.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Dark Abyss_**

**_Chapter 6: Byleth and the Beast_**

* * *

_"You should have allowed me to turn back the hands of time."_

To say that Byleth had not been tempted would be a lie. However, there were many drawbacks that came with the use of such a power.

Failure, pain and injury were very effective teachers. How were his students to learn the threat of ambushes, if they never experienced one? How would his students learn not to charge in recklessly, if they never experienced the dangers that came with it?

How would his students learn not to let their guard down, if they never experienced anything to guard against?

As Byleth looked down at Bernadetta's motionless form, however, he conceded to Sothis that she had a point.

It was a fine line to walk.

The small girl breathed softly. Her face, usually baring a myriad emotions for the world to see, now remained perfectly still.

The sight pained him in a foreign way; one which he did not fully understand. Byleth had seen dozens of his fellow mercenaries cut down in the heat of battle, and while he always avenged them, he never lost any sleep over it.

Perhaps it was because Bernadetta was his student – his charge. She was not merely an ally, but someone who looked up to him for guidance and protection, and he had failed her. He had failed Caspar as well, but the boy's injuries were trivial in comparison.

_"Do not be so hard on yourself. You saved their lives, and even rescued someone long thought lost."_

An image of Monica's tear-stained cheeks entered his mind, and he recalled carrying her back the entire way to the monastery. While he could not deny Sothis' words, they provided only a modicum of comfort.

"Professor… You've stayed here for the entire night. You ought to rest, as well."

Manuela, for once, spoke without a hint of enticement in her tone. Her voice was compassionate, and the older woman approached to rest a hand atop his shoulder. They stood in silence, observing the young, purple-haired girl, resting peacefully in one of the infirmary's beds.

"She'll be fine. You have my word."

_"Listen to the lewd one, Byleth. Fretting over the girl will not heal her wounds any faster."_

Sothis' words rang true, and he was struck with yet another wave of shame and guilt. What kind of irresponsible professor headed out into battle with his charges, knowing next to nothing about healing magic?

He would have to do something about that forthwith. In teaching the students he had neglected his own studies, and paid dearly for it.

"Thank you, Professor Casagranda." he whispered, gently moving her arm aside and leaving the infirmary without a second glance.

Byleth strode decisively through the corridor, making his way to the library. Faces both familiar and unfamiliar greeted him along the narrow path, and he barely offered a nod in response. Each congratulation for the efforts of himself and his students stabbed painfully at his chest.

A young boy with curly, dark hair perked up upon noticing him.

"Professor! Lady Rhea wishes to speak-"

"Later." he interrupted, brushing past the boy and leaving him behind with a flabbergasted expression on his face.

He rounded a corner at the end of the hall, and entered the library. There were a few students inside, some seated by the desks, while others perused the tall bookshelves along the walls.

Byleth made for the section featuring books on magic, only to find a short, white-haired girl standing on her toes. She strained, lifting both of her arms and struggling to grasp the spine of a particular book.

He reached over her head and removed the book from the shelf, sneaking a peek at the title as he did so.

"Elder Magic – An Introduction to the Dark Arts." recited Byleth, raising an eyebrow when Lysithea yelped and turned to him looking both angry and jittery at the same time.

"P-Professor! Don't sneak up on me like that!" she exclaimed. "And I don't need help getting things down! I'm not a little child!"

He handed the book over to her, pretending not to take note of her outburst. A few of the other students had thrown curious glances their way, and if the rumors were true, the academy's youngest student would not appreciate it.

"Perhaps not, but there's no harm in saving a bit of time."

Lysithea went oddly stiff for a moment, before giving him a sincere nod. The girl was strange, figured Byleth, but then again, he might be strange in her eyes as well.

_"Are you not going to question her on the book she intends to read? The title alone proves its dubious nature."_

He would not. If it were harmful in any way, he doubted the church or Tomas would allow it to be kept around.

_"That makes sense."_

"You're right, Professor." said Lysithea. "Time is too precious to waste, especially when there is so much left to learn. Just because we don't have any classes this week doesn't mean we should be slacking off."

The girl then walked away, almost hurriedly so, and Byleth assumed she must be very keen on reading that book. He turned back to the shelf, intent on finding something that could teach him the fundamentals of faith magic.

He would learn it, no matter how many late nights it would take.

* * *

"You surprise me, Professor. I had thought you, of all people, would favor reason over faith."

Tomas approached his desk, which was now covered with papers and notes. Several open books were spread out across the table, all of them on faith magic, with Byleth waving his hand over them in an attempt to replicate the spells described inside.

"Tomas." greeted Byleth, dismissing a circle he had summoned, before spotting the girl standing next to him.

"And… Miss Ochs. I'm glad to see you on your feet. I hope the students have welcomed you back to the monastery with open arms."

The red-haired girl smiled and nodded enthusiastically, looking far happier than she had yesterday.

"They have, Professor By! Did you know that I used to be a member of the Black Eagles, too? Oh, and I heard that you're teaching us this year! What a coincidence, right?"

Monica paused, catching her breath.

"Anyway, Edel and Mister Tomas have been showing me around, and I feel much better already! I look forward to learning from you!"

_"Professor By? Edel? Is she aspiring to find a pet name for each and every one of us?"_

Byleth blinked.

He had not expected such a rapid change in the girl's personality. Perhaps that was her way to come to terms with her kidnapping, he figured. A way to cope with whatever horrific treatment she had endured while living with those bandits.

As such, he decided to refrain from commenting on her lack of formality. Truthfully, he did not care, but apparently it was something the church held in high regard.

"That's good." he said, giving her a brief smile. "And to answer your question, Tomas… I do favor reason over faith, at least in theory."

The librarian straightened slightly at the mention of his name, while Monica looked on curiously.

"Oh? Then why…?" he began, before trailing off. "Unless... It is not offensive spells you seek."

Byleth nodded, sorting the various papers in front of him into a neat stack.

"I must learn how to heal my allies. Unfortunately, faith magic seems mostly derived from the belief in some sort of deity. That… complicates matters."

"You don't believe in the goddess, Professor?" asked Monica; her eyes wide in surprise.

He carefully closed the old books on his desk, placing them beside his notes. Monica's question was one he had been asking himself often as of late, and he pondered how to best answer it.

Byleth did not wish to offend her in the event that she, like the vast majority of people in Fódlan, was a staunch worshipper of the goddess. It was far from impossible that faith in a higher power could have granted her the strength to persevere throughout her capture, and undermining that would be disrespectful.

Yet, in spite of that, it was not in his nature to lie.

"No." he said. "Or rather, I don't care much for the idea. If the goddess exists, why would she allow such terrible things as murder and…"

Byleth cut himself off before saying something he might come to regret. However, seeing that neither Tomas nor Monica had interrupted him yet, or even shown a hint of scorn, he continued.

"As I see it, there are only two possible explanations. The goddess is either dead, or never existed to begin with. Thus, faith in the goddess is a waste of time, especially when one's own resolve is more than enough to deal with worldly troubles."

When he was greeted with a deathly silence, Byleth feared he had gone too far. It was one thing to discuss the intricacies of politics and religion with his father, and another thing to do it publicly in Garreg Mach – the veritable lion's den of both said topics.

"I… That is… A most intriguing point of view, Professor. I would advise against sharing it any further, however."

Unless his eyes betrayed him, Byleth thought Tomas looked pleased. Surprised, yes – but pleased.

Monica, on the other hand, blinked confusedly, before giggling and pumping a fist into the air. She seemed to have drawn some sort of conclusion.

"I get it, Professor By! When someone's as strong as you, they don't need the goddess anymore!"

Her naivety was almost amusing in its own right, and he could not bring himself to correct her.

A chair suddenly fell to the floor; its back crashing loudly against the library's wooden floor. Byleth spotted a blur of blue – the only other person remaining in the library – rushing out into the hallway with a muffled sob.

It was Marianne, and he repressed a sigh.

Perhaps the goddess did exist, and today happened to be a day where she was particularly angry with him.

"_You do seem to be suffering a stroke of bad luck lately."_

"Oh, dear." said Tomas. "We ought to have been more quiet."

* * *

"Why, yes! I did see Marianne just a moment ago! She appeared in an awful hurry, racing into the courtyard with nary a thought to her belongings."

Claude adopted a thoughtful expression, resting his chin on his hand.

"Come to think of it, it looked like she was crying. Professor… You didn't break her heart, did you?"

He shook his head in exasperation. The leader of the Golden Deer House never ceased to find an opportunity to joke around.

"Did you happen to see which way she went, Mister Riegan?"

Claude pointed ahead, in the direction of the gazebos, and Byleth took off. It must have seemed strange for a professor of the academy to be sprinting across the grounds, but finding Marianne had become his top priority.

He spotted her sitting by one of the small, round tables; face buried in the palms of her hands. He recalled their conversation in the cathedral and surmised that his words, as well as Monica's, must have cut her deeply.

"Miss Edmund." tried Byleth, coming to a halt. The girl remained unresponsive, hunched over and resting her head against the table.

He took a seat opposite her, and waved over one of the maids nearby.

"Please, Miss. Some tea for us both, and a few sweets."

The maid nodded, throwing him a sympathetic glance, and walked off to fulfill his request.

"Professor…" Marianne whispered eventually, peering through her fingers. "Why are you… wasting your time with me?"

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't?"

The girl was troubled, that much was clear. In any case, she was speaking to him, which was a step in the right direction.

"B-Because I don't get along with anybody. I don't contribute much either… I'm not even in your class. You probably see me as a nuisance."

"That is not the case, Miss Edmund."

Marianne lifted her head, looking at him with swollen, red eyes.

"You only say that because you don't know the real me. I'm… I'm not…"

The maid returned, pushing a small trolley in front of her. She had brought a large plate filled with various cakes and sweets, along with a jar and a pair of teacups. Both Byleth and Marianne nodded their thanks as they were served, and stayed silent until the maid had left.

"Thank you, Professor. You didn't have to..." said the girl, taking a sip of the hot tea. "Anyway, I'm more trouble than I'm worth. You should keep your distance from me."

_"Truly? The girl is as harmless as a dove."_

Byleth said nothing, instead serving them each a slice of cake. He stared out into the distance, admiring the way the mountaintops glistened in the sunlight.

"Is there anything you wish to tell me, Miss Edmund?" he finally asked.

Marianne rubbed her eyes; nibbling timidly at the piece of cake on her fork. She seemed uncertain, as though she were struggling to say something. Her mouth opened and closed, without a single word leaving her lips.

"I… I must look so weak to you, whiling away each day in prayer. You said I didn't always have to turn to the goddess for advice…"

Her voice came out softly; barely even as a whisper.

"But who else would listen to a demon?"

Byleth placed his tableware calmly across his plate; gaining an ever-so-slight understanding into the troubled girl's mind.

They were more alike than he could have possibly imagined.

"Come with me, Miss Edmund."

* * *

"Again."

"Professor, I don't think…"

"Do it." commanded Byleth, and Marianne raised a trembling arm. The sword in her hand pointed downward lethargically, betraying her hesitation.

The training grounds were empty, something he found strange considering the academy housed obsessed individuals such as Felix and Caspar. According to Hanneman, the Fraldarius heir spent more time training than he did sleeping, eating and studying combined.

Perhaps he would have to speak with the boy. Overworking the body was never a good idea, and possibly even lethal in the long term.

Marianne sent another half-hearted swing his way, and Byleth idly batted her sword aside. He wondered if her hesitation stemmed from the fact that they were not using practice weapons, and decided to reassure her.

"Again." he repeated. "I'm perfectly capable of defending myself, Miss Edmund. Let go of your fear."

_"That is easier said than done. I still do not fully understand what you are trying to accomplish... Has the poor girl not been through enough?"_

A slightly sharper strike clashed against his blade, and Byleth nodded in approval.

"Much better. Forget the world around you and focus solely on the weapon in your hand."

They exchanged blows for a while, with Marianne slowly losing her apprehension and settling into a comfortable pace. She was not half bad with a sword, thought Byleth, parrying a blow that would otherwise have caused several days' worth of headache.

He did not go on the offensive, instead allowing the girl to slowly but surely let out her pent-up frustration.

_"I see…"_

Before either of them knew it, their impromptu spar had grown into something more akin to a dance of death. Loud, metallic clangs resounded throughout the grounds, with each strike carrying more force than the young girl's frame should have allowed for.

A particularly powerful blow had Byleth genuinely defending himself, and he caught the glimmer of a crest shining above them.

When he met Marianne's eyes, it was as though he were looking into a mirror image of himself. Her eyes were no longer sad and dejected, but instead completely blank. She appeared to be in a trance-like state, and pushed her blade against his with unwavering strength.

_"What is this power? This should not be…"_

As if in response to Sothis' shock, power surged through his own body. Much like it had during the battle in Zanado, Byleth found his own abilities magnified substantially.

He pushed back, applying just enough force to shove the distracted girl back a few steps, at which point she regained her sense of awareness. Her eyes shifted back and forth between himself and her sword, before she let it drop to the ground with a clatter.

"P-Professor! Oh… Oh no… I…"

Marianne backed away; a horrified expression on her face.

"I must say, that was quite remarkable."

"W-W-What?"

"The strength you displayed…" said Byleth. "I've never seen anything like it before. I understand why you would wish to keep it a secret."

"I-I think I should go now."

"I'm not judging you. That would be hypocritical of me."

_"Tell her, already! I fear she might collapse of anxiety!"_

By some miracle, the nature of his crest had yet to become public knowledge. He had no doubt that the archbishop knew, given her strange interest in him, but none of the students had broached the subject yet.

Marianne had frozen in place; her hand still reaching for the gate leading back to the courtyard.

"I possess a crest, too. One I'd rather keep hidden."

She turned, facing him with such a timid, uncertain look of hope that he nearly averted his gaze. It was a broken stare; that of someone clinging onto life by the barest of threads.

"You're no demon, Miss Edmund." he said; catching up to her and pushing the gates open.

Byleth realized he was late for a meeting with Lady Rhea, but Marianne's well-being seemed a magnitude more important at the moment.

"Professor…" she whispered, clasping her hands together tightly. The look in her eyes only served to assert his belief.

"Trust me. I would know if you were."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Dark Abyss**_

_**Chapter 7: A Spark of Rebellion**_

* * *

"Did you hear?" asked Manuela. "There's news of someone in the Kingdom raising an army."

Byleth nodded, all too familiar with the recent developments in Faerghus. Lady Rhea and Seteth had wasted little time in informing him of his next mission.

_"And do not forget the veiled threat."_

Sothis was right. The archbishop seemed to take personal offense at Lord Lonato's rebellion, going so far as to command Byleth to show his students how foolish it would be to turn their blades against the church.

"The Kingdom, the Empire, the Alliance..." Manuela continued; pacing back and forth across the infirmary. "They do love a good war, don't they? Spilling the blood of young men and women... And for what? Just to enjoy the horror of it?"

He hummed in response; his tone noncommittal. There had to be more to the rebellion than mere bloodlust, he thought. It made little sense for a previously benevolent and beloved lord to change his tune so suddenly.

"Oh!" exclaimed Manuela. "I'm sorry, Professor. You're not here to listen to me prattle, after all."

Yet he found himself doing just that, and a little too often for his liking.

_"Admit it, Byleth. You are fond of the woman, despite her obscenities." _

Manuela still frightened him in many ways, but he had learned to look past her indecency over the last week. She had revealed some unexpected virtues, such as the ability to give Jeralt a run for his money in the drinking department.

_"Only you would see that as a positive quality."_

In any case, her heart was in the right place, given the way she obsessed over the students in her care. Bernadetta served as proof of just that, and her recovery had come a long way.

His fellow professor was also a veritable fountain of knowledge regarding faith magic; something Byleth had quickly made use of.

The discovery that any kind of faith could empower his magic, and not just faith in the goddess, had been a handy revelation. He suspected the church withheld, or at least did not actively share that piece of information, on purpose.

He possessed a great deal of faith, after all. Faith in himself and his abilities. Faith in his father and all the mercenaries in their corps. Faith in the prospect of free will, and the idea that each individual was in control of their own destiny.

With a wave of his hand, Byleth summoned a circle of magic. More specifically, a circle of light magic, which he had previously struggled to materialize.

Manuela smirked, pleased with the sight.

"Such a diligent student you are. Come to think of it, you're young enough to join my class…"

He shuddered.

"An interesting offer, but I'm afraid I must decline. I'd like to think that the Black Eagles still have need of their professor."

The woman pouted; disappointment at having failed to get through to him clear on her face.

Byleth would never tire of turning her down.

* * *

The next day came quickly, marking the end of the students' week off. Byleth strode through the courtyard, heading in the direction of the dormitories.

However, he soon found himself in a precarious situation, coming face to face with a familiar individual.

Jeritza stared.

"…"

Byleth stared, carrying his notes in one hand and a plate full of cake in the other.

"…"

He was surprised to see the tall, mysterious combat instructor outside of the training grounds, and without a single weapon anywhere on his person. Hopefully, he would not end up being challenged to a brawl.

Both men shifted slightly, maintaining eye contact as they slowly made their way past each other.

"What?" Jeritza said suddenly. "I desired fresh air."

"The wind does feel nice today." commented Byleth, reveling in the gusts of air as they tousled his hair.

Jeritza huffed, before picking up his pace and disappearing around the corner.

He shook his head at the strange man's antics, and proceeded toward Bernadetta's room. Class was due to begin shortly, and he had a feeling that the shy and perhaps traumatized member of his house would need encouragement to join them.

He used his foot to knock on the door to her room, patiently awaiting a response.

Soft humming could be heard from inside, which came to an abrupt halt following his announcement.

"H-Huh? Um, is someone there? What do you want?"

"Good morning, Miss Varley."

A muffled shriek reached his ears, and from the sudden rustle of sheets he assumed Bernadetta was desperately scrambling out of bed.

"Professor! No, wait… I'm not skipping class, I promise! Please don't kill m-e-e-e!"

Byleth's lips twitched.

_"It seems as though nothing has changed."_

The girl opened the door to her room slowly; a nest of hair appearing in the crack. She wore a thin bandage around her neck, looking only a little worse for wear.

"Is that…? It is! Cake!"

"Consider it a… recovery gift." said Byleth, handing over the plate to an eager Bernadetta. She dug into the pastry enthusiastically; a soft, pleased moan escaping her lips.

"So good…" she mumbled, stuffing her face and unwittingly following him to the classroom in the process.

When they arrived, the rest of the class were already present and seated.

Monica had found a place at the front, forgoing the empty desk in the back of the room in favor of scooting up next to Edelgard. The princess appeared flustered, but Byleth imagined she was too polite to complain about the invasion of her personal space.

Hubert, on the other hand, glared murderously at the red-haired girl. If looks could kill, Monica would have been reduced to nothing but ashes.

"Good morning." he said, causing all of them to turn around. Bernadetta took her usual seat, still picking at the last pieces of cake on her plate.

"I hope you've taken care to rest, as well as reflect on your performance at the Red Canyon."

Byleth's eyes traced each corner of the classroom, and lingered briefly on Caspar. They boy noticed, ducking his head and turning a light shade of red.

"For many of you, it was your first taste of a true battle. As such, I don't intend on scolding you too harshly."

Caspar, who had gulped nervously, exhaled in relief.

"However…" he continued. "I will expect nothing less than your best in the future."

His eyes must have looked suitably menacing, because the students all reared back and tensed. Or rather, all except Hubert, and suprisingly, Bernadetta. The latter for the simple reason that she was wistfully picking at her now empty plate, too occupied to be paying attention.

Byleth placed the palms of his hands against his desk.

"The archbishop has informed me of our next assignment. We are to travel to the Gaspard region, where Lord Lonato has incited a rebellion against the church."

"How disgraceful!" exclaimed Ferdinand, who had passionately risen from his seat. "It is the duty of a noble to protect the commonfolk, not spur conflict and shatter the peace!"

Dorothea tugged at his uniform, pulling the boy back down.

"He must have his reasons." said Byleth. "What matters most is to ensure that no innocents are hurt in the crossfire."

Ferdinand adopted a sheepish expression.

"You have a kind soul, Professor. Now I feel a little sheepish for showing anger and not empathy. I apologize for my impetuousness."

"How strange…" said Edelgard. "Against the might of the church, Lord Lonato must know his efforts are futile. And yet…"

"He cannot help but fight." finished Byleth, surprising her. "An astute observation, Miss Hresvelg, and one I have been pondering myself."

"Which is why today's lecture will focus on the importance of ascertaining a foe's motives. The Church of Seiros intends for us to join their knights and attest to the folly of standing against the faith."

Hubert chuckled amusedly.

"Are you of a different opinion, Professor?"

_"Remember the librarian's counsel, Byleth. Choose your words carefully."_

"It's not my place to question the archbishop's decree." he continued. "However, only a fool would dismiss the opportunity for a peaceful solution."

He paused, scanning their faces for any sign of disfavor.

"You're all to work together, and in two weeks' time, provide a detailed report on Lord Lonato. I wish to know everything about him and his family, so make sure to spare no expense in your studies. There is no such thing as trivial information."

Linhardt raised his hand; the simple act enough to stun his peers into silence. They were clearly not yet used to seeing him awake.

"How do you propose we obtain this information? Books?"

Byleth shook his head.

"You think as a scholar, Mister Hevring. Use all tools at your disposal. Many of you belong to the nobility, and thus, have access to a great number of contacts."

The boy frowned, but nodded.

As a mercenary, Byleth was already familiar with this way of thinking, to the point where writing letters and calling in favors was second nature to him. If his students were to become successful and cunning generals, they would have to grow comfortable doing the same.

"Of course, I fully expect you to keep up with combat practice simultaneously."

He made his way through the classroom, handing over a sheet of paper to everyone except Monica.

"I have prepared a set of instructions tailored to your individual needs. Follow the instructions carefully, and do not hesitate to confront me if you have any questions or concerns."

Monica let out a sudden, disheartened sound.

"What about me, Professor By? You never gave me a paper. Don't I get to fight?"

Edelgard's eyes widened, and Byleth saw her wordlessly mouthing the appellation Monica had come up with.

"Not to worry, Miss Ochs. While I'd prefer to have you and Miss Varley rest for another week, time doesn't allow for that. As I've yet to determine your strengths and weaknesses, you'll be sparring with me personally."

Monica lit up; her previous dejection nowhere to be found.

"Really? I can't wait!"

_"I wonder if she will be as excited for the next thing you have planned."_

Byleth nodded in response.

"Good." he said. "Oh, and before I forget… You will all be taking your first certification exams come the end of this month."

As one, the class paled.

"Furthermore, Thunder Catherine will be accompanying us during our mission. It would behoove you not to disappoint her."

In his mind, Sothis broke out into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

* * *

"Catherine?" asked Felix, humming thoughtfully. "Her skill is impressive, I'll admit. So is her sword. But I think she's hiding something. Nobody knows anything about her past."

_"I agree. Her devotion to the archbishop and the church is… considerable. More so than the average knight patrolling the monastery grounds… I wonder why." _

"You should spar with her." said the fierce-looking boy. "She's strong. Stronger than you are, I'd bet."

Byleth narrowed his eyes ever-so-slightly. The provocation was clear, and he knew instantly that Felix was up to something. Most likely, he wanted to watch them spar, and learn something in the process.

"Perhaps." he conceded. The woman in question was hammering away at one of the dummies, each strike of her legendary blade rending the otherwise sturdy equipment asunder.

"On an unrelated note…" continued Byleth. "I recommend that you find some time to rest, Mister Fraldarius. Torturing your body is not the same thing as training. Professor von Essar is worried that you're pushing yourself too far, and that you'll end up hurt."

Felix grumbled bitterly, before walking away.

"Whatever."

_"How rude! You should not allow him to get away with such atrocious manners!"_

He found that statement slightly ironic, coming from the entity who insulted nearly everyone behind their backs.

_"That is different. I... I am... I am me!"_

Yes, he acknowledged. Sothis was definitely unique. He would even go so far as to call her special.

_"Thank you."_

Byleth approached the dummies, picking up a sword from the rack nearby. The sun was setting, and he wished to get some practice in before the day's end.

If Catherine had noticed him, she made no effort to show it.

He closed his eyes, settling into the stance Jeralt had taught him so many years ago. He crouched, feeling the grains of sand grinding beneath his boots. His hands gripped firmly around the hilt of the sword, and with a swift motion, Byleth raised the weapon in front of him.

Conservation of movement was key to swordplay. Far too many people wasted their stamina on unnecessarily wide swings, leaving them both tired and open for counter.

With that in mind, he unleashed a pattern of light, controlled strikes on the dummy. There were no battle cries or pirouettes, nor did he follow through on each hit. As soon as the blade struck the dummy, Byleth drew back, aiming for a different point instead.

Only the demon followed through, cutting his foes to pieces with no restraint.

_"My intuition tells me that we are being observed."_

He came to an abrupt halt, freezing in the middle of a swing.

"Interesting… You really are as hardworking as they say."

Catherine eyed him with approval; a few beads of sweat running down her forehead. She had sheathed her sword; strapping it onto her back. As the knight approached him, Byleth took note of her startlingly blue eyes.

"They?" he asked, and the woman laughed.

"Oh, you know... The common rabble."

Byleth shook his head. She was clearly hiding something from him.

_"I am beginning to think it is a shared trait amongst members of the church."_

"I see. They would be mistaken, then. I'm just me."

"Spoken like a true hard worker." she said. "Looks like there's something to all that gossip, after all. Maybe that's why Lady Rhea has taken such a liking to you."

"I mean…" continued Catherine. "It's not like you're all that strong. Or good-looking, for that matter. Really, you seem exceedingly unremarkable."

_"Oh, my! Surely you are not planning to suffer through such humiliation in silence, are you?_

Sothis was having a little too much fun, thought Byleth. He would need to find a way to reign her in, and soon, before she turned completely insufferable.

"You're right." he said. "Perhaps I need to find a hero's relic of my own, and see if people start singing my praises."

_"You did not just…"_

"Yeah! That's…" Catherine trailed off, thinking over his words for a few seconds. An angry vein protruded along her temple, and she gripped hold of his collar, growling.

"Hey! I worked my butt off to get this strong, you little shit!"

"If you say so."

_"Stop antagonizing her!"_

Catherine fumed, pulling him close enough to her that a few strands of blonde hair brushed against his face. For a brief moment, he was tempted to take a leaf out of Manuela's book, but decided against it.

"I mean it!" she hissed, and shoved him away.

Byleth casually brushed some dust off his robes, straightening them out as he did so. Despite her attempts to the contrary, the female knight had revealed a lot about herself. She had a secretive past, a volatile temper and a strained relationship with her weapon. Either that, or the circumstances surrounding it.

Thunderbrand, he recalled, having overheard some of the other knights mentioning it. He would have to look into the relic further, and see what new insights he might glean.

For now, however, he would keep exploiting her lack of composure. If Catherine was as close to the archbishop as she made it seem, and not to mention a high-ranking knight, there may yet be something left for her to reveal. Perhaps not about him, specifically, but the dealings of the church in general.

As he had told his students, there was no such thing as trivial information.

"Prove it."

The look in her eyes turned positively feral.

"With pleasure."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Dark Abyss**_

_**Chapter 8: Sons and Crushes**_

* * *

Byleth threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding a swing to his neck.

He had long since abandoned hope of parrying Catherine's strikes; his own blade easily getting caught in Thunderbrand's protruding talons.

Having nearly been disarmed thrice already, and without any further use for the weapon, he had chosen to toss it aside. It would only weigh him down, anyway.

Unfortunately, his foe had taken the action as an insult and intensified her onslaught.

"_This is what you get for riling her up! I told you-"_

Catherine growled, cutting Sothis off. She was clearly infuriated by her inability to land a blow.

"Annoying little… Stay still!"

He came to a halt, steadying his fall with a roll. Byleth quickly surveyed his surroundings, searching for anything within the training grounds that could provide an advantage.

Within seconds, Thunderbrand came crashing down upon him. He sidestepped the blade; its tip digging itself into the pavement. In the spur of the moment, he wrapped his hands around Catherine's, and pressed down with as much force as he could muster.

"W-What?"

Her blade sank another foot into the ground, granting him a moment's reprieve while Catherine attempted to yank it loose.

He snuck an arm past her guard, letting the palm of his hand rest against her abdomen.

It was an improvised spell, working on raw magic alone. It was neither powerful nor complex, requiring only a brief burst of faith to release an equally brief wave of power. A bright light flared between himself and Catherine, and the swordswoman was suddenly propelled in the opposite direction.

"_How utterly primitive. The way you butcher the arcane arts is beyond painful." _

Byleth supposed Sothis had a point, even if he did not care much for it. To him, magic was merely another tool in his arsenal, and tools were meant to be effective.

"_If I could, I would shake my head in disappointment. Perhaps, one day, you will appreciate the more sophisticated aspects of magic… However, I shall not be holding my breath."_

Meanwhile, Catherine had been sent flailing through the air, eventually landing flat on her back. She moaned painfully; a dazed look on her face.

"Ow… What the hell?"

Byleth approached, and the woman got back to her feet, albeit with a stumble.

Upon seeing him, she quickly regained her focus; eyes narrowing in anger. She raised her arm, preparing yet another strike, when she noticed Thunderbrand was no longer in her hand. Instead, the legendary blade remained impaled in stone a short distance away.

"A draw?" offered Byleth, seeing as he had little interest in prolonging the fight. Catherine had revealed nothing during their bout, too focused on defeating him to hold any sort of conversation.

She did not appear happy, but nevertheless gave him a stiff nod.

"_Make amends, already!"_

Byleth complied, deciding to offer her an olive branch, if only because he suspected she would hound him for the rest of eternity if he did not. The last thing he needed was yet another Sothis pestering him at every waking moment.

"Well fought. I take back my previous insinuations."

Catherine blinked, before giving him a huff and walking away to retrieve her sword. She strapped it back over shoulder, before turning to him with a hesitant expression.

"I guess you're not that bad, yourself."

"I'm glad to hear it." said Byleth. "It's an improvement over 'exceedingly unremarkable', at least."

The woman had the decency to blush. She reached over her head, tightening the ponytail which had threatened to come loose during their spar.

"I just don't get it." she said, kicking lazily at a small rock. "I'm flummoxed as to why she holds you in such high esteem."

"Lady Rhea?"

Catherine nodded.

"I don't blame you. I'm just as perplexed. Maybe we'll both find out, someday."

She laughed at that, some of the tension in her shoulders easing up. Byleth walked past her, heading toward one of the resting benches. His arms ached from his initial attempts at defending against her blows.

There had to be something different about heroes' relics, he figured – something that set them apart from ordinary weapons in a way that went beyond their legends.

"Maybe it's because you're related to Jeralt. He was the leader of the Knights of Seiros, and-"

Catherine had sat down next to him, getting lost in thought. She stopped talking, however, noticing that Byleth was staring down at his hands sluggishly.

"Hey… Are you alright?"

His arms were still aching, and his hands now shook uncontrollably.

"Yes." he replied. "But I think I see where the 'Thunder' in 'Thunder Catherine' comes from. I'll need to spend a good hour in the sauna today."

Catherine laughed again.

* * *

Monica sighed.

"This is so… boring."

Edelgard, still wearing the same infuriating smirk she had for the last hour and a half, tutted in mock disappointment.

"Now, Monica... You're an upstanding student of Fódlan's most prestigious academy. Whining over schoolwork is unbefitting of you."

Monica rolled her eyes, ignoring the self-righteous tone. She knew Edelgard did not like her, and while she made attempts to appear civil, that did not stop her from sneaking in a few annoying comments.

"Shut up, Edel."

The two girls sat alone in their classroom. At least, they appeared to be alone, but Monica did not doubt that Edelgard's pet bodyguard was lurking in some nearby shadow. They shared a desk at the front, just as they had before, and were already working on the professor's assignment.

"So… What have you found thus far?" asked the princess.

"In the books? Nothing. But I did manage to interrogate that pathetic Lion... What was his name again?"

"Ashe. And what exactly did you do?" Edelgard asked warily.

Monica smirked, baring her teeth. It was time she had some fun of her own.

"Oh, nothing special. I was actually rather merciful. I just dragged him from the dining hall all the way to the fishing pond, and threatened to drown him unless he revealed everything."

Silence reigned.

"Relax. I'm kidding. He didn't have much to say, though. It looks like daddy dearest doesn't share his evil plans with his son."

Edelgard shook her head, before resting her chin against her hand.

"That's too bad, though not unexpected. The only other obvious lead would be… Christophe Gaspard! How could I have forgotten?"

"Who?" asked Monica. "Gaspard? As in Lonato Gaspard? The guy we're researching?"

Edelgard stood up from her seat abruptly.

"Christophe was his son, and one of the people behind the Tragedy of Duscur. Something I'm sure you know all about."

Monica got up as well, hurrying after her classmate who had begun to walk away.

"Hey, Edel! Wait for me!"

She caught up to Edelgard just outside the classroom. The two walked past the dormitories, and Monica could not help but wonder what her ambivalent friend was up to. Dusk had long since passed, and it was almost late enough to be considered night.

They stopped outside one of the rooms; the one closest to the sauna. Edelgard knocked three times on the door, but no reply was heard from inside.

"Professor?" she asked, giving the door another few hesitant knocks.

Monica gasped.

"This is Professor By's room?" she exclaimed excitedly. "I had no idea he slept here!"

"About that!" said Edelgard, facing her with a slight blush. "You really shouldn't be calling him… Professor B-By. It's disrespectful."

A giggle escaped Monica's lips. She was finally beginning to make sense of Edelgard's more recent and strange behavior whenever the professor was mentioned. She always seemed so defensive of the man; not to mention how she held him in such high esteem.

"Are you… jealous?" she asked, and cackled. "Oh, this is absolutely precious!"

"I'm not jealous!"

"Miss Ochs. Miss Hresvelg. Can I help you?"

Monica and Edelgard jumped simultaneously, unintentionally pressing against each other as they turned around in shock. They backed up against the door to the professor's room; both of them wondering how much he had heard.

"Ah! P-Professor!" exclaimed Edelgard. Her eyes were wide and the blush on her face grew deeper, eventually culminating at a point where no tomato would prove redder.

The professor was wearing nothing but his trousers, with a towel slung casually over his shoulders. For some reason Monica could not understand, her heart skipped a beat. Unlike the princess, however, it was not enough to make her turn her back.

"Looking good, Professor."

The man in question blinked confusedly, while Edelgard covered her mouth to muffle an embarrassed shriek. All the while, Monica relished at having found the dreaded Flame Emperor's only weakness.

It could not have come at a more opportune moment.

"Um, Edel?" she asked, and poked the girl a few times. "You wanted to say something to Professor By, didn't you?"

Edelgard said nothing.

* * *

Sothis was roaring with laughter.

"_Oh! Goodness me! This is…"_

She broke out into another fit, and Byleth's mind echoed with her high-pitched chirping. He was tempted to cover his ears, but that might give the pair of students in front of him the wrong idea.

"_The wrong idea, indeed!"_

He stood outside his room, which was being passionately guarded by Edelgard. She had pressed herself up fully against the door; her back turned toward him, and showed no sign of letting up anytime soon.

He also wondered what Monica had meant by her comment. Usually, people looked good when they were dressed in fancy robes, had their hair done or were adorned with jewels. Byleth, on the other hand, had just gotten out of a relaxing session in the sauna.

"_You… Do you really not…? Oh, this is wonderful!"_

"You wanted to tell me something, Miss Hresvelg?"

When the girl finally turned around, he hardly recognized her. Her face was such a deep shade of red, he feared she had been struck by a sudden bout of illness.

"Are you feeling alright? Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?"

"Yeah, Edel…" said Monica. "You're looking awfully red. Maybe you've got a fever."

He almost smiled when Monica placed a hand against Edelgard's forehead; a concerned expression on her face. It would do the princess good to have a reliable friend outside of Hubert. As the next emperor of Adrestia, she could definitely use a few more trusted allies.

"I-I-I'm fine!"

Byleth actually smiled at that. He was not one to take pleasure in the misfortune of others, but Edelgard's embarrassment was undeniably cute. Doubly so, when she tried to hide it with a show of haughtiness.

"I'm sure Professor By could carry you there, if you don't feel like walking."

"N-No!" screeched Edelgard, before regaining some of her composure. "There's no need for that."

"In that case, I must ask that you reveal your purpose for being here. It's growing late, and a full night's sleep is important for both body and mind."

"It's about the assignment." she said; refusing to meet his eyes. "You should look into Christophe Gaspard. There isn't much information about him, but I believe the archbishop might know more. Seeking an audience with her would be much easier for you than a student like myself."

Edelgard expanded all the air in her lungs with that revelation, and then ran off without another word. Byleth and Monica watched as her form disappeared, melding into the darkness.

"Don't worry." said the red-haired girl. "I'll look after her. She's been acting strangely today."

He nodded. Strange was almost too mild a word, given the way Edelgard had acted. He hoped she would manage to sleep off her concerns until tomorrow morning, else she might have a difficult time focusing in class.

"Well, I should be going. I'll see you tomorrow… Oh!"

"What is it, Miss Ochs?"

She stepped forward, taking hold of the edge of his towel.

"You have a few drops of water left on you…" she said, dabbing the towel gently against his chest. "Right there."

"I see. Thank you."

"No problem!" Monica said cheerfully. "Goodnight, Professor By!"

She then skipped away, eventually fading from view just as Edelgard had.

"_How daring! That girl is about to sink her teeth into you, Byleth!"_

He entered his room, shutting the door behind him as he did so. He then threw himself onto his bed, just in time for Sothis to materialize beside him.

"Her teeth? Does she plan to bite me? Should I be worried?" he asked aloud, as he did when Sothis chose to assume a physical form. It felt odd to merely project his thoughts to her when she was visible.

She laughed, somehow resting her head against his pillow and kicking into the air with her tiny feet.

"_No, you dunderhead!"_

"Then… I'm afraid I don't understand."

"_That much is painfully clear." _

Sothis sighed dramatically, crossing one leg over the other, all while looking at him as though he were particularly dumb.

"_You ought to be thanking me profusely for explaining this to you. Not everyone is as merciful as The Beginning."_

"I'm sure." said Byleth. "Now, are you going to tell me or not?"

"_Have you ever heard of a teenage crush? On second thought, do not answer that question. I do not wish to hear any more of your social disabilities."_

"…"

It appeared he would have to investigate more than just Christophe Gaspard tomorrow.

"_Goodnight, Byleth."_

"Goodnight, Sothis."

* * *

"_Are you certain about this?"_

Truthfully, he could not say that he was. Byleth had no idea what to say or expect. The archbishop was a mystery to everybody, even the people closest to her.

His own father had spent a long time as Captain of the Knights of Seiros, yet not even he knew all there was to know about Lady Rhea. When Byleth had told him that he intended to meet with the archbishop, all he could offer was a warning to be careful.

That, and to watch his words, just as Tomas had once told him.

As for the archbishop, she had been ecstatic to hear that he sought an audience with her. She had even gone so far as to welcome him up to her personal quarters, something which Sothis told him should bother him more than it did.

He had thought it was surprisingly kind of her, and she had called him a naïve fool.

The door to her chambers suddenly swung open, just as he was about to knock. He withdrew his hand, and came face to face with the archbishop herself.

"Welcome, Professor." said Rhea, giving him a gentle smile.

When he remained in the doorway, standing still, she tilted her head a fraction to the side.

"There is no need to be nervous. Please, come closer."

Byleth nodded, entering the room. It was ornate, but not overly so. A large bed stood centered to the far end of the room, and the walls were decorated with a handful of paintings and a single, wide bookshelf.

Rhea sat down on the bed, and patted the soft cushion next to her.

"When you speak with me here in this room, you are not speaking with the archbishop, but with Rhea. It's just me."

"That makes sense." he said. "Although… I'm still nervous."

Despite the fluttering in his stomach, Byleth sat down on the bed next to Rhea. It was strange – he usually felt little when interacting with other people.

In any case, her smile grew wider at that, and she seemed to light up in joy.

"Such a sweet child you are."

"_And what a creepy lady you are."_

"Truth be told…" she began. "I thought I would have to be the one to seek you out. Do not misunderstand me, however. When Seteth came to me with your request, I was pleasantly surprised."

Byleth hummed, unsure of what to say. The mercenary within him wanted to get straight to the point, and extract every piece of information she had regarding Christophe. The more rational part of him wanted to ease his way into the subject, lest the archbishop grow suspicious and withhold the already secretive knowledge from him entirely.

"Oh, my apologies." said Rhea suddenly. She took hold of one of the pillows on her bed, placing it in her lap and resting her arms against it.

"I should not be treating you like a child. As Jeralt's kin, somehow you don't seem at all a stranger to me... Speaking of Jeralt, may I ask if he ever spoke of me to you?"

"Ah…" began Byleth, shifting slightly. "He said you were frightening."

The archbishop let out a soft laugh.

"My, but that does sound like something Jeralt would say. Do you agree with your father's assessment of me, Professor?"

Byleth stared ahead, admiring the artwork on the wall adjacent to him. It was obviously religious in nature, depicting large, draconic creatures soaring in the heavens, while regal knights reared their weapons down below. The Crest of Flames encompassed the entire landscape, sprouting from an angelic woman's back in the shape of wings.

"Frightening?" he asked rhetorically. "Perhaps not."

"_Do not say anything stupid, Byleth."_

"Personally, I consider you… mysterious. As a former mercenary, I will admit that it makes me slightly uneasy to be kept in the dark."

He tore his gaze away from the painting to meet Rhea's emerald eyes.

"Please forgive me if I have or will offend you in any way because of it."

"I see…" she whispered. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I appreciate your honesty. While I may not be able to answer all of your questions, it would not do for this poor impression I have made on you to stand. If there is anything I can help you with, please feel free to ask."

"_You sly demon. Guilting her into lowering her guard… Buttering her up before asking about Christophe… Now that is something I approve of!"_

Byleth leaned back, supporting his weight by placing his arms behind him. Were he not in the archbishop's room, he might have even laid down entirely.

"Do you know what a teenage crush is?"

"Excuse me?"

"A teenage crush. I was told two of my students may have developed such a thing for me. Unfortunately, my ignorance in the matter prevents me from doing anything about it. I don't wish for the students in question to suffer academically because of this… crush."

Rhea blinked at him for a long while, before breaking out into laughter. The sight was so at odds with what he expected from her, and so sudden, that he was stunned into silence.

They stayed that way for a good minute, with Byleth silently observing as the last bouts of laughter escaped the archbishop's lips.

"Dear me! I do not believe I have laughed so thoroughly in… forever!"

She graced him with another smile.

"A crush, dear child, occurs when someone develops an infatuation for…"

Whatever Rhea said next was lost to his ears. Byleth instantly regretted asking, and wished it were possible to turn back time and remain in the sauna for another hour.

It suddenly occurred to him that he could do just that.

"_No. You will deal with this in a manner befitting of your station. I always believed you had known, following the lewd one's advances. Then again... she is very direct."  
_

Whatever Sothis was, he was now convinced that only the fiery pits of hell could have spawned her.

"H-How do I deal with this?" he asked, stammering for the first time in his life.

"Given your position as a professor, it will require a certain sternness of words and actions. I would suggest that you broach the subject gently, however, so as to not hurt the students' feelings."

He nodded in response, already visualizing various scenarios in his mind, each resulting in a worse outcome than the other.

"I will do my best." said Byleth, before raising his hand to his chin.

"Come to think of it, I was also meaning to ask… Do you happen to know anything about Christophe Gaspard?"

Rhea drew a sharp breath.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Dark Abyss**_

_**Chapter 9: A Glimmer of Hope** _

* * *

"Fifteen-hundred gold. No more, and most certainly no less!"

_"I do believe we have come across your female counterpart. I also fear for the continued existence of Fódlan, should the two of you ever decide to work together."_

Byleth was rendered speechless. He considered himself a decent haggler, but the girl before him was stubborn as a mule. She simply refused to cave to his offer.

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow, tapping her fingers against the stand impatiently.

"Very well." Byleth said begrudgingly, dropping his hard-earned sack of coin into her waiting hands.

Immediately, the girl's demeanor changed. Her face turned from resolute to joyous, and she grabbed his hand and shook it passionately.

"Thank you! A pleasure doing business with you. I'm Anna, by the way!"

"Byleth." he replied, wondering if he was supposed to introduce himself.

"I'm-"

"A professor, I know! I've been meaning to make money off-"

Anna attempted an obviously fake cough. Her magenta hair, which had been tied in a ponytail, swayed slightly as she did so.

"That is to say… I've been looking forward to meeting you! But enough about that. I owe you a brand new, top quality steel sword!"

He followed the odd merchant as she led him aside, prattling on about her love for all things shiny and golden. Behind the stand stood a trailer, filled with everything from weapons and shields to medicinal herbs.

_"I wonder how someone like her came into possession of all these wares."_

"Pretty, aren't they?" asked Anna. She must have noticed his staring, and he nodded.

"I even have some more… exclusive things hidden away, for only the most trusted of customers."

Byleth picked out two different swords from the trailer, weighing each in his hand.

_"By trusted, I am assuming she means any customer with a heavy enough bullion."_

Probably, he figured, and settled for one of the swords.

It felt leagues above the rubbish he currently wielded. His iron sword was beginning to show signs of rust, let alone wear and tear. Byleth feared the blade would crumble within a few blows.

_"You did cut down two dozen bandits, and even clashed against a hero's relic with that thing. It is practically a legend in its own right."_

When put that way, he supposed he could afford the weapon slightly more respect.

"Hey…" began Anna. "Would you mind if I took that horrid thing off your hands? I might be able to have it melted down into raw materials. I'd compensate you, of course."

Byleth looked between his new steel sword, and the old iron sword dangling haphazardly at his side. His pouch was rather light, following the latest purchase, and he could use the coin.

It was not as though the church paid him particularly much.

"Sure, why not?"

_"That was the most fleeting ounce of respect I have ever witnessed."_

He shrugged, attributing it to his habits as a mercenary, and promptly ignored Sothis' annoyed huff as Anna snatched the rusty blade out of his hands.

Having collected his payment and bid the strange merchant farewell, Byleth began heading back toward the monastery. His students were in the midst of combat practice, making the most out of their final chance to prepare for the upcoming certification exams.

_"Oh, yes! That particular event had nearly slipped my mind. I can hardly wait! Their fear and anxiety shall fuel my amusement for a long while, I believe."_

For some reason, the image of a sadistic, green-haired imp rubbing her palms in an evil manner filled his mind's eye.

"Have you ever wondered what goes on below Garreg Mach?"

Byleth perked up at that, catching the hushed question as he walked past a group of gossiping students. A girl stood leaning against the wall of the reception hall, her hood casting a dark shadow over her features.

"What do you mean?" asked her friend. He could not get a good look at the person's face, but his voiced betrayed him as male.

"Oh, you know..." began the girl, before lowering her voice to a whisper.

"All those passages beneath the monastery... they even lead underneath the town, or so they say. Doesn't it make you even a little curious?"

_"Indeed! Now I wish to hear more of this! What manner of dark secrets could this place be hiding?"_

"Rumors say there are actually homes down there, all inhabited by some really shady people."

The girl giggled, inching closer to the boy as if to whisper a secret into his ear.

"Supposedly they even have this dark, intimidating name..." she said, pausing dramatically.

_"Yes? Hurry up, girl! Spit it out!"_

Byleth slowed his gait enough to register the words escaping her lips as he made his way out into the courtyard.

"Abyss!"

* * *

"Ow..." groaned Monica, landing flat on her back yet another time.

Her crimson hair spread out around her; the buns long since having come loose. Above her stood Edelgard, looking far too smug for her liking.

"Argh!" she cried. "Why do I keep losing to you people?!"

She figured it must be the magic disguising her that restricted her power. There was no other explanation, for not only had she lost to Edelgard, but also to each and every remaining member of her house.

Even Bernadetta.

It was beyond humiliating.

"Why, indeed..." muttered an all too familiar voice, and Monica's cheeks burned in embarrassment as her professor took in the sight of her prone form.

"Miss Hresvelg, please find another sparring partner for the moment. I wish to assess Miss Ochs' skills myself."

"Yes, Professor." replied Edelgard, throwing her a final victorious glance before walking away to find someone whose weapon was not currently clanging loudly.

The fact that the princess still struggled to meet the professor's eyes was but a small mercy.

"I must thank you, Miss Ochs. The advice yourself and Miss Hresvelg provided me has been invaluable. The archbishop revealed far more than I had expected."

"Oh?" asked Monica, accepting the proffered hand and standing back up. All around her, the students of the Black Eagles clashed fiercely against one another, displaying speed and strength that had not been there a mere month ago.

The training grounds appeared almost akin to a battlefield.

"Yes. I will inform the class at a later time. For now, I'd like to focus on you."

"Me?" she asked, dusting her dirty robes. Her axe hung limply in her hand, and she shot it a quick look of betrayal.

"I did say we would be sparring together, didn't I? Now, are you certain an axe ought to be your weapon of choice?"

She jerked in surprise when the professor approached her, grasping hold of her arm and stretching it out in front of her.

"Professor By!"

He hummed in response, circling her as she stood awkwardly in place. He raised her other arm, before crouching down and poking the back of her knee.

"No... This won't do at all. You're far too short and lack the appropriate muscle mass. Your balance also seems a tad bit off. I hope you're not trying to emulate Miss Hresvelg because of your friendship."

Monica spluttered.

"W-What? No! I mean, that's not..."

"What you need is a sword." he began, before pausing thoughtfully.

"No, that's not right. A dagger is what you need. It would complement your stature perfectly."

She raised an eyebrow, failing to hide her surprise at his insight. As Kronya, she had always favored a dagger in battle. It was small and handy, easy to wield and perfect for some of her more discreet operations.

I really was too bad that she could not use her own, lest it raise some uncomfortable questions.

"Unfortunately, neither the academy nor the shopkeepers provide daggers as primary weapons. Do not ask me why. Perhaps the demand is low, or the church finds the association to rogues and assassins too contemptible for their tastes."

The professor then smiled, reaching down and removing a small sheath from his waist. The weapon inside was unmistakably a dagger, and a rather beautiful one at that. Monica gaped when he held it out to her.

"Which is why I shall lend you my own. Please take care of it, as it holds some sentimental value to me."

"That's... I- I can't-"

He chuckled lightly and pressed the weapon into her hands; the glossy, indigo sheath cool to the touch.

"I believe you can. Now, why don't we see if we can bring your performance up to par with the rest of the Black Eagles."

Monica shook her head lightly before grinning. The professor was an odd one, and with each passing day she found herself growing ever more determined to uncover his secrets.

The gifts would turn out to be an unexpected yet welcome bonus.

"You're on, Professor By!"

* * *

Sothis sighed deeply within his mind.

_"You utter fool. You were supposed to distance yourself from the girl, not court her!"_

Byleth suppressed a wince. In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten about Monica's supposed crush.

_"No matter. At the very least, you made no advances toward the princess."_

He latched onto the half-hearted praise for all it was worth. On the bright side, he had been correct in his assessment, and Monica had turned out to be considerably talented with a dagger. She would make a fine assassin, and he hoped she would not let the stigma hold her back.

_"Enough about the girl, Byleth. Focus!"_

Sothis was right, as usual. Their mission was due in a week, and Byleth had plenty of work to do. He had to finalize preparations for the certification exams, in addition to reading up on as much about House Charon as possible.

Whether intentionally or not, Lady Rhea had let slip that there was a significant connection between Lord Lonato's rebellion, House Charon and the Church of Seiros.

The usually regal and composed archbishop had faltered during her story, revealing signs of age beyond what her appearance suggested. Whatever had happened had saddened her immensely, though not nearly as much as it had infuriated her.

For a brief moment during their meeting, Byleth had understood why his father once described her as terrifying.

He flipped a page in the book he had procured; one that detailed the intricate history of the Ten Elites.

"Here at this hour, Professor?"

The library was dark and silent, save for the light from a chandelier handing above him, as well as the small candle he had lit on his desk.

Byleth smiled at the voice, looking up to meet the old librarian's gaze. Tomas looked at him exasperatedly, although there was a certain fondness in his eyes that momentarily reminded him of his father.

"How goes your research?"

"Poorly, I'm afraid." replied Byleth. "I've been made aware of a relation between the rebellion and House Charon, but there's little here of use. All it says is that the last member of the house vanished without trace following her involvement in the Tragedy of Duscur, and their relic along with her."

"And which relic would that be, perchance?"

Byleth frowned, flipping a few more pages, before his eyes widened in shock. There, right in front of his eyes, was an unmistakable sketch of Thunderbrand.

"That... can't be possible." he muttered.

Tomas made an inquiring noise.

"It makes no sense. How would the sword have..."

"_Unless it is her... The lost heiress of House Charon. And thus, the pieces of the puzzle fit together at last."_

"My boy, I must confess the suspense is killing me."

Byleth held back a tiny flush, apologizing to the librarian for losing himself to his thoughts.

"Catherine and Cassandra Charon must be one and the same. I wonder how no one has made the connection when the truth is staring us so blatantly in the face."

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Tomas, before calming himself with a deep breath.

"Granted, it may not be so strange at all. Sometimes the least guarded secrets are those best hidden. And sometimes... it is easier to accept a poorly veiled lie rather than reveal an unpleasant truth."

Byleth was suddenly reminded of the conversation he had happened to overhear.

"Tomas..." he began. "You wouldn't know anything about hidden passages and abodes underneath Garreg Mach, would you?"

The librarian adopted a confused expression, suggesting that the old man knew little of such things.

"I must ask, what brought about this sudden change in subject? I've walked these halls for a long time, Professor, and not once have such tales reached my ears."

Byleth closed his book, letting his hand hover above the lit candle absentmindedly. Its warmth bathed his skin, and he took comfort in the simple pleasure.

"It's probably nothing more than rumor and gossip amongst the student body." he mumbled, unsure of his feelings on the matter.

"But what if it's true? What if there is actually something down below... or someone? Could you imagine what it must be like, never having seen the light of day?"

Tomas eyed him strangely, before cupping his chin in contemplation.

"A possibility as intriguing as it is alarming. If such people were to exist... I imagine that they would fear the light just as much as we fear the dark. Perhaps it would be best to leave them be."

Byleth shook his head sadly, thinking back to certain broken and miserable individuals he had encountered during his travels.

"Fearing the dark is easily forgiven. The real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."

* * *

"Kronya, there has been yet another change of plans. The Death Knight must act sooner than we had prepared for."

Monica blinked.

Solon stood before her in her room, disguised just as she was. The mage only belatedly seemed to realize her state of undress, and turned around without a word.

"What's this about, Solon?"

"For centuries, we believed we were alone. That Shambhala was the last bastion that remained of our once great civilization."

"Y-You can't be serious." stammered Monica. "Did you actually..."

"I do not know. However, if there is even the slightest chance, we must investigate."

She agreed wholeheartedly. If more of her people had survived and were residing somewhere, it was their duty to find and help them.

"And what is my role to be in all of this?" she asked.

"Inform the Flame Emperor as follows. She is to command the Death Knight to investigate the chambers beneath his quarters, as well as any other signs for hidden pathways underneath the monastery."

"Here?!" Monica squeaked in surprise. "They're here?!"

"Perhaps." said Solon. "And if they are, it would prove a significant stepping stone in bringing young Byleth to our side."

"Which brings me to my second point." he continued. "We must double our efforts in showing the professor the shortcomings of the church. The seeds of doubt have already been planted by his own design, however it falls to us to nourish them."

She nodded in response.

"I understand, Solon. We'll have our light once more."

"Yes." the old mage concurred, his tone softening as he exited her room. She might have been imagining things, but for a brief moment Monica could have sworn it grew almost melancholic.

"For far too long have our lives been naught but a tragedy."

Once Solon had closed the door shut behind him, Monica came to realize how deeply his words had affected her. She thought back to the countless generations of Agarthans who lived underground in fear - be it fear of discovery, annihilation or simply of whatever other future lay in store for them.

No matter how much the beasts attempted to justify their genocide, she knew in her heart that no one deserved the fate they had been dealt. Nothing her ancestors could possibly have done justified the pitiful excuses for lives her people led today.

She turned around, making her way back to the bed which was growing cold in her absence. Next to it, on top of a small desk, rested the professor's dagger, and as she laid down and pulled the covers back over her slender body, Monica smiled.

She reached for the dagger, clutching it tightly in her hands.

Things were different now. Things had changed.

Now, there was hope.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Dark Abyss**_

_**Chapter 10: The Onset of Dubiety**_

* * *

The atmosphere in the classroom of the Black Eagle House was tense, to say the least.

Byleth peered over his desk, allowing his dispassionate gaze to sweep across the room. Not one of the students failed to flinch as his eyes met theirs, a fact Sothis was taking great delight in.

Even the usually cool and composed Hubert had stiffened momentarily.

To no avail, Byleth tried to remind himself of why he had agreed to follow along with Sothis' ridiculous antics.

_"Because you have no choice, my mortal friend. I wish to be entertained, and entertained I shall be!"_

He suddenly recalled his reasoning. It was the only way to shut her up.

There was one student completely at ease, however. Monica, whose certification exam had been postponed by a month due to her late arrival at the academy, seemed to be finding just as much sadistic enjoyment out of her peers' distress as Sothis was.

_"You have dallied enough, Byleth. Proceed with the spectacle!"_

Byleth stood up, his chair creaking slightly in relief, and began to pace on the spot. The students remained silent, only a few daring to sneak a glance in his direction.

He cleared his throat, drawing his cloak around him ominously as he came to a halt.

"I find myself most... troubled."

Several drops of sweat ran down Caspar's temple, quite literally soaking a sheet of paper which was lying face-down in front of him. Behind him, on the edge of the furthermost row, Bernadetta trembled uncontrollably. However, the heaviest weight on his consciousness came from the princess herself, Edelgard, who looked at him in shame akin to a puppy caught misbehaving.

Unfortunately, once Byleth committed to something, he would always see it through.

"A mere month ago, I vividly recall myself stating that I would expect nothing less than your very best."

Someone whimpered pathetically.

"Do my words and teachings mean so little to you that you would ignore them outright?"

A chorus of desperate, almost pleading apologies broke out across the classroom in response. Byleth raised a hand, immediately cutting off the distraught students.

"Silence. Excuses will do you little good. When I asked for your best, I did not intend for you to go above and beyond and exceed even my wildest expectations."

After a whole minute's worth of confused blinking and shared glances, Linhardt voiced the class' collective thought.

"Huh?"

"Congratulations!" said Byleth; a touch of genuine cheerfulness in his voice.

"You've all passed your exams with flying colors. Please take a look at the sheet of paper in front of you and find your grades stamped in the bottom right corner."

"..."

"Professor!" exclaimed Bernadetta in indignation, followed closely by an irate-looking Edelgard.

"Yes?" he replied, raising an innocent eyebrow.

Both girls spluttered, struggling for words. Hubert glared at him viciously, while most of the other students simply sagged in relief.

Monica broke out into laughter, rocking her chair back and forth.

"The looks on your faces! Oh, dear me! Good one, Professor By!"

"That was a very... cruel thing to be doing, Professor." said Petra.

He shrugged dismissively.

"Blame that hellish imp who squats in the back of our minds. Mine takes far too much pleasure in pointless frolicking."

At the students' blank faces, Byleth shook his head sadly. To make matters worse, it did not take long for Sothis to begin screeching, and he immediately regretted his vengeful quip.

"Just me, then. How unfortunate."

He clasped his hands together, managing for all intents and purposes to appear ever the prim and proper professor.

"Now then... Let's move on to more pressing matters. In a few days' time, we shall be moving out to put a stop to the misguided Lord Lonato and his band of insurgents in the Kingdom."

The students fell silent at that; a hint of steel finding its way into their eyes.

As well it should, he thought. He would not stand for a repeat of the last mission's shortcomings, and thankfully, the students seemed to be of the same opinion.

"I asked you to procure as much intelligence about House Gaspard as possible. Together with what little I've gleaned myself, it's high time to devise a course of action for our mission."

Byleth moved toward the chalkboard; picking up a crayon from his desk as he passed it.

"Miss Hresvelg." he said, motioning toward the girl seated at the very front the classroom.

"Please, begin, and share with us the information you've found."

* * *

Were Jeralt present, he would have whistled appreciatively at the jam-packed chalkboard; scribbles and sketches reaching as far as to each corner of the board.

The students had been thorough in their research, something Byleth was both proud and glad for. Most of them had left by now, heading off to the dining hall for some well-deserved lunch. Only Monica, Hubert and Linhardt stayed behind; each of them for widely different reasons.

_"Well... that was most certainly an informative forenoon. These students of yours may show some promise after all!"_

"Excuse me, Professor?" asked Monica, who had approached his desk; her eyes trailing over his papers curiously.

"I was wondering..." she began, placing her arms behind her back and pouting slightly in confusion.

"Edel mentioned the conflict between the Central Church and the Western Church. You know, that whole thing about-"

The doors the classroom were suddenly blown open; an ashen-haired boy scrambling his way inside with red and swollen eyes.

"P-Professor!" stammered Ashe, nearly tripping over his own two feet as made his way to stand beside Monica.

"Yes, Mister Ubert?" Byleth said calmly, taking note of how Linhardt had jerked awake, and the sinister way in which Hubert narrowed his eyes.

"You have to take me with you!" the boy demanded. "I- I know I'm not in your house, but..."

Byleth sighed, having expected this turn of events for more than a while.

"Please take a seat, Mister Ubert."

"Miss Ochs, please excuse us for a moment. The same goes for you, Mister Vestra and Mister Hevring. I'll answer any of your questions in the evening."

Monica nodded in understanding, grabbing her belongings as she dragged out Linhardt and a sour-looking Hubert behind her.

_"The menacing one possesses a rather vicious glare, does he not?" _

He silently concurred, wondering if he should be more worried about his student's dark tendencies. He recalled a late evening when the boy had approached him, and with a remarkable lack of subtlety proceeded to threaten him should he ever pose a threat toward Edelgard.

"Now then, Mister Ubert." said Byleth, sitting down opposite the anxious boy. "I'm afraid my answer is no."

Ashe blinked and rubbed his eyes, the finality of his response only hitting him a moment later.

"W-What?!"

The otherwise gentle boy's glistening eyes sparked with rage, and he jumped to his feet, clutching the edges of Byleth's desk tightly.

"You're angry." responded Byleth, no trace of emotion in his voice.

"I-"

"I have no doubt that your father is a good man. Nothing I've heard of him points to a terrorist or a murderer."

"Then-"

"However, what I have heard points to a man fighting for a cause." he interrupted sharply.

"Few men are as dangerous as those willing to wage war for their beliefs. Are you ready to see the man you hold in such high esteem cutting down your friends and allies?"

Ashe's eyes widened briefly.

"Are you prepared to face a man willing to sacrifice anything for his goals? Could you raise arms against your own father? I know I could not."

"He wouldn't hurt us!"

"Some possibilities are best left unexplored."

Byleth shook his head, feeling a twinge of compassion for the boy.

"I must ask that you trust in me and the Black Eagles to do the right thing. I cannot in good conscience approve your request. If you choose to hate me for it, I'll understand your decision."

He stood up and made his way out of the classroom, leaving a highly conflicted Ashe behind.

Hopefully the boy would not do anything stupid.

* * *

"So, kid. Are you feeling prepared for the mission?"

Jeralt broke the silence awkwardly, looking distinctly uncomfortable. An odd sensation came over Byleth, and he fought down a faint urge to laugh.

His father was not suited for any sort of tea party.

_"That is an understatement. Witnessing a warrior of his caliber surrounded by flowers and cakes is as amusing as it is bizarre."_

The older man's bulky frame made it difficult for him to sit comfortably in his chair, and he kept readjusting himself and tugging on the sleeves of his gambeson. A cup of tea rested on the table in front of him, untouched.

"Not as much as I'd like to be, but we'll manage."

Jeralt raised an eyebrow.

"This mission… it bothers me. Lord Lonato's motives remain shrouded in mystery, and the information I've ascertained points to a disagreement with the church. Yet, I'm having trouble picturing the man as a mere malcontent."

A gust of wind threatened to blow away a dainty, embroidered napkin, and Byleth quickly brought his hand down over it.

"I heard of your scuffle with Catherine." his father eventually said. "What do you know of the woman?"

"Not much. I've deduced she's in fact Cassandra Charon. Beyond that, only minor details."

"Charon… Of course."

Byleth watched as his father muttered to himself, seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion.

"You know, I've been to Castle Gaspard. Many years ago… By request of the son of that family. Christophe, I think."

"The traitor?" asked Byleth, recalling what the archbishop had told him.

"I wouldn't know. Those were… strange times. People saw enemies around every corner. Though I'd be willing to bet a bullion of gold that this whole rebellion business has to do with Christophe."

"How so?"

"It was Cassandra Charon who had him captured and sentenced to death."

_"A grudge, then? Yes… it makes sense. However, a personal grudge does not justify jeopardising the lives of one's subjects - especially not in a futile war against the church."_

Byleth agreed wholeheartedly. It was rare for Sothis to do much else than jeer and gibe, but on occasion, she could be surprisingly wise.

_"And each time, you make me regret imparting that wisdom."_

"You should drink your tea, Father. It's getting cold."

While Jeralt struggled to grasp the ear of his cup, Byleth could only frown at the importance of the information Lady Rhea had withheld from him.

He would have to revise his plans.

Again.

* * *

Monica found it hard to tear her eyes away from the professor. For the entire duration of their excursion, she had been observing him with rapt attention. Not even the sound of leaves and twigs crunching beneath her boots distracted from her scrutiny.

Ahead of them marched the Knights of Seiros, clearing a path into the dense forest that made up Magdred Way.

The knights were unaware of just how lucky they were, Monica thought darkly. Were it not for the professor occupying her attention, she might not have resisted the urge to slit their throats from behind.

While Byleth was mostly passive and unflinching, she had, over time, discovered tiny clues which allowed her a glimpse into his mind. Whether it was a brief twitch of his lips, or a light inclination of his head as he pondered something, she had realized that he was consumed by thoughts as much as anyone else.

He almost seemed to hold a constant inner dialogue with himself.

In light of this discovery, Monica also realized that something was weighing heavily on his conscience, and wondered if she ought to ask. Then again, he was currently conversing with that zealous witch, Catherine - someone she wanted to stay as far away from as possible.

"The fog is growing thicker."

"Yes, Edel. I can see that." she answered, refraining from sarcastically thanking the princess for pointing out the obvious. Magdred Way was as if made specifically for the purpose of an ambush.

"Hold, Miss Hresvelg. Miss Ochs."

Monica and Edelgard stopped at the sound of their names. Hubert, naturally, followed suit and stood next to his liege. The rest of the students shot them curious glances, but a wave from the professor had them quickly moving along.

Byleth inspected the trio thoroughly - enough to make Monica slightly self-conscious. With a start, she realized the professor was hesitant to speak, something he had never shown a hint of before.

"I need to ask a favor of you."

"What is it, my teacher?"

The way Edelgard addressed the professor bothered her far more than it should have. She did not quite appreciate the thought of him belonging to the princess in any way.

Hubert merely hummed, while Monica furrowed her brow and eyed him in a curious manner.

"I can't ask this of anyone else. As of yet, you're the only three that have proven open-minded enough."

Before anyone could comment on that particular statement, a knight hollered from far ahead.

"The enemy is approaching! Their numbers are too great to be avoided! Secure the perimeter and prepare for battle!"

Byleth drew his blade, but not before issuing a final, definitive command - one which she knew Solon would be elated to hear.

"Lord Lonato must survive."


	11. Chapter 11

**_Dark Abyss_**

**_Chapter 11: To Stand Against Fate_**

* * *

Byleth despised the act of taking another individual's life.

Whether they were enemy or ally mattered not, and neither did the fact that he happened to be exceptionally talented at it. Each life lost in war served only to further mankind's failures, and yet, he knew that certain sacrifices needed to be made.

While some may say those sacrifices were made in the name of the greater good, Byleth chose not to make such a distinction. They were simply sacrifices, come about because two people happened to stand against each other at a given time.

"I- I'm sorry… Lord Lonato…"

Byleth yanked his blade out of the dying man's chest.

He knew that the cold and unyielding way in which he did so did nothing to portray his true feelings. He knew that that the students, the knights and even his own battalion would see nothing but an executioner of the church.

It was also precisely what he wanted.

_"Be careful. You are treading on thin ice."_

"Advance." he ordered, pressing on deeper into the forest. The fog was unnaturally thick, and Byleth realized there must be some sort of magic involved. Unfortunately, most of their preliminary scouting and reconnoissance was rendered useless because of it.

"Use the fog to your advantage and turn the enemy's strength against them."

"Yes, Professor!" his students chorused.

Ferdinand and Bernadetta worked splendidly together; the former utilizing his lance to hold nearby enemies at bay, while providing time for the latter to nock and let loose her arrows. The Knights of Seiros protected their flanks, and Byleth felt confident that they would remain unharmed.

_"You truly have grown protective of them… The girl in particular."_

He caught a whiff of ozone in the air, and narrowly managed to avoid a blast of dark magic sent his way.

"Mages." said Byleth, raising his arm and moving behind the nearest tree. His battalion of archers quickly stood in formation, listening for the slightest hint of movement.

It was a quiet, eerie battle.

Aside from the sporadic clanging of steel, often accompanied by a hair-raising scream, the forest was enveloped by a deathly silence. He was about to give up on locating the mages when rustling reached his ears - perhaps the sound of robes caught on a stray branch.

"Aim at three o'clock. Sixty yards."

A gentle, almost unnoticeable breeze kissed the side of Byleth's face.

"Curve slightly to the right." he instructed, before bringing down his arm.

"Fire."

With a twang and the sound of displaced air, a volley of arrows were released. They went soaring into the sky, almost seeming to hang still in the air before falling back down - hopefully also striking true.

There was no time to seek out the corpses, however. Time did not allow for that, and each second wasted gave Catherine the opportunity to reach Lord Lonato before he or his students could.

When the fog began to thin out, he hastened his steps.

_"Have faith, Byleth, but do not delay."_

He would not.

* * *

Monica gleefully stabbed the professor's beautiful dagger into her victim's gut.

She pushed the soldier down onto the ground, leaning over him on all fours. Each twist and turn of the razor-sharp dagger brought forth such delicious screams, and Monica wondered if she would be ever able to stop.

Byleth had said to use the fog to her advantage, and she made sure to follow his order to the letter. Deep within the thick, all-encompassing mist, no one could see her wicked smile - the sadistic grin of someone exacting her rightful vengeance.

Lonato's militia may have been comprised mostly of peasants and loyalists, but to her, it hardly mattered.

They worshipped the goddess and served her interests, be it in one way or another. As far as Monica was concerned, they were only marginally better than the followers of the archbishop, and nothing but death could absolve them of their crimes.

She did eventually cease her assault, but only because the fog which obscured her from view was beginning to fade.

At once, the previously silent battlefield grew loud with angry cries and mournful wails. What once made up a lush, green forest had become tainted with corpses and blood. Tall trees had been felled, foliage set ablaze and moss stained crimson.

For once, she could even appreciate the talent of her surface-dwelling peers. Whether it was Caspar driving a spiked fist into his enemy's face, or Hubert shredding his foes apart with deathly magic, each instance of violence left Monica craving for more.

"Why? Why do you insist on fighting such a pointless battle?"

A few feet ahead stood Edelgard, fending off a pair of soldiers on her own. Neither of her foes managed to gain an advantage; their weapons only finding the bit of her axe.

Monica broke out into a sprint, barely catching the reply.

"What, you thought we were just gonna do nothing while you try to kill our-"

Her dagger cut deeply into his throat, cutting him off abruptly, and Edelgard used the moment of surprise to disarm the remaining foe. There was a flash of silver, and the man's head was cleaved open, coating the princess' face in red.

"Damn. I was hoping to find out more about their motives."

"Who cares?" said Monica. "The professor is counting on us. You can worry about these fools once the battle is over."

"Right."

The professor in question stood currently far ahead, appearing a streak of black as he tore his way through Lonato's militia. In the meantime, his archers made sure he never had to engage more than one or two enemies at a time.

He was quickly closing in on Catherine, who led the charge with the Knights of Seiros. She appeared to have focused on one target in particular - an elderly man atop an armored steed.

"Is that-"

There was a beam of violet light, and suddenly both Monica and Edelgard found themselves standing next to Linhardt, much closer to the bulk of the fight.

"No time for questions. The professor wants you two at the front, so I'll be warping you there now. Bye."

"Linhardt, wait-" exclaimed Edelgard, to no avail, as they were promptly carried forward another couple of hundred yards.

"Ah, good. Mister Hevring received my instructions, then. I was beginning to fear Miss Macneary might not have been able to relay my message."

Byleth looked little worse for wear than he had before the battle. He flicked his wrist, and most of the blood on his blade came off, splattering against the ground.

"Lord Lonato will fall within the next minute, unless you do exactly as I ask."

He turned to Edelgard.

"I want you to throw your axe with as much force as you can." said the professor; his expression severe.

"And you must aim for Lady Catherine."

* * *

Byleth had witnessed Lonato's death thrice already.

At first, he had simply not managed to reach Catherine in time, and the old man found both himself and his steed cut down in a single, swift strike.

While unfortunate, it had not bothered him much. Sothis used her ability, and the second time around, Byleth made sure to hasten his steps. For a moment, everything appeared to be going to plan.

_"It is not your fault. You could not have predicted he would seek the woman out of his own accord."_

The mere sight of Catherine seemed to rob the man of all reason. He had charged recklessly, ignoring Byleth completely, and ridden straight to his death.

The third and final time the man had died, it had been by Byleth's own hand. It was clear that Catherine constituted the main obstacle to his success, and so, much as he intended to do now, he had the woman incapacitated.

While she lay on the ground, knocked out cold and surrounded by her knights, Byleth had approached Lonato and ordered his surrender. The man had shocked him by spitting at his feet, declaring that he would rather die here, on the battlefield, than executed at the hands of Lady Rhea.

He had called the archbishop a witch - a vile woman and an infidel - someone who had deceived the people and desecrated the goddess, before forcing Byleth to kill him in self-defense.

_"Perhaps there are certain events which are fated to occur… Fixed points in time, if you will, which inevitably correct themselves no matter how much we seek to change them."_

Byleth refused to accept such a thing. That would mean he was not in charge of his own destiny, and merely walked along a predetermined path, toward a predetermined fate.

He would keep trying.

_"Byleth… I cannot turn back the hands of time indefinitely. I wish you to succeed, but…"_

"P-Professor!" said Edelgard in shock. "That's-"

"Please trust in me, Miss Hresvelg. Do it now, or it'll be too late."

He understood that what he asked amounted to both heresy and betrayal, but there was no clear alternative in sight.

"Miss Ochs. On my mark, I'll warp you behind Lord Lonato. Wound him gravely, but make sure not to kill him. I will take care of the rest."

A roar of anger reached their ears, and all three turned to see Lonato and his men charging in Catherine's direction. She braced herself, and Thunderbrand crackled with sacred energy. He recognized the stance, and knew precisely what it entailed.

"Now!" ordered Byleth, and rushed toward Catherine. He was pleased to see an axe soaring past his face and straight toward her unprotected back.

He leapt over the thick root of a tree, drawing back his arm and readying a spell in his free hand.

"Lady Catherine!" he shouted. "Watch out!"

The woman barely had a chance to react before the spell left his hand, disintegrating the axe only inches away from hitting its mark. She made a sound of surprise when Lonato rammed into her; the full force of a galloping steed sending her tumbling painfully on the ground.

A moment later Byleth's dagger found itself impaled between the lord's ribs, courtesy of Monica, who had materialized directly behind him on the back of his horse.

The Knights of Seiros acted as he suspected they would, and immediately raced to the aid of their fallen heroine.

"Step aside, quickly!" exclaimed Byleth, shoving his way past a knight to kneel at Catherine's side. She was unconscious, but also mostly unharmed. With some healing, and a decent amount of rest, she would make a full recovery.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Lonato's men acting much the same way. Were he not preoccupied with healing Catherine, he would have smiled. Even as the enemy retreated, vowing to exact revenge, his good mood did not dissipate.

He had succeeded in cheating fate.

_"You never cease to amaze me, Byleth. Whether it is for better or for worse remains to be seen."_

* * *

Catherine groaned as she regained consciousness.

She was surrounded by a handful of knights and curious students, and much to Monica's dismay, resting her head on the professor's lap. The very small, faint and reasonable part of her mind told her that it was necessary - that it was a simple act to gain her trust as he continued to heal her.

The other, much larger and more diabolical part whispered words far more sinister in nature. For instance, how delightful it would have been if the woman had never woken up at all.

"What happened? Where's L-"

"Dead."

Byleth's curt reply was enough for her to fall silent once more.

They had almost returned to Garreg Mach; the trip through the Oghma Mountains not taking longer than a few days by carriage. Though the ride was bumpy and uncomfortable, it was a definitive improvement over trekking the rugged path.

A slightly larger cart would not have been unwelcome, however. It was rather cramped with a dozen people inside.

"Good." Catherine said eventually. "That means… I didn't make a complete fool of myself."

"You shouldn't say such things, Lady Catherine. Your presence was invaluable to our victory."

Monica held back a snarl at the professor's words. He had a silver tongue, that much was certain, but his tendency to direct it at people other than herself was something that would need to change.

As though he had read her mind, Byleth looked toward her and smiled.

"As was yours, Miss Ochs. I can't thank you enough for delivering the final blow when we could not."

Monica giggled at that, knowing the secret that the two of them shared. Even as she planted the knife between the cracks in Lonato's armor, she had the foresight to whisper a few words in his ear.

If the old man had any sense at all, he would appreciate the value of his newfound allies.

Byleth let his hands pass over Catherine's face and chest, sending soft pulses of healing magic through her body even as his eyes were locked with her own.

"Though some of Lord Lonato's men may have survived, the lord himself suffered a fatal wound. You've done the church a great service."

He had to be teasing her by now, thought Monica. Another giggle threatened to escape her throat. Her, of all people, aiding the church - what an utterly ludicrous notion!

"I had no idea you were so skilled in the art of white magic, Professor."

Linhardt was eyeing the professor's handiwork interestedly, and Monica recalled the time when she and Solon had found him studying the art. She remembered how scared they had both been, fearing that the church might be attempting to strengthen their influence over him.

"I wasn't." he replied. "Following our last mission, I realized my inadequacy could have cost us dearly."

His eyes flickered over to Bernadetta, who blushed and attempted to hide behind Ferdinand.

"That's our professor, alright!" said Caspar. "Studying as hard as his students!"

"Harder than you, at least!" quipped Dorothea, causing the students to share a laugh, while the handful of knights present looked at Byleth with even more respect.

"Garreg Mach is in sight!"

The coachman's cry caught their attention, and everyone inside the carriage scrambled to get a better view - everyone except a certain princess.

A certain princess who, much to Monica's amusement, glared at Catherine in poorly concealed rage.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Dark Abyss**_

_**Chapter 12: A Selfish Choice**_

* * *

"Is… is he asleep?"

Byleth jerked awake at the sound of the voice; forcing his heavy eyelids open. It was with some embarrassment that he met his students' curious stares, all of whom had formed a long line in front of his desk.

"Forgive me. I've been rather tired as of late... A meager excuse, I'm aware."

It was true - ever since the day of the mission Byleth had been unable to find even a single night's rest. The archbishop's words upon his return had left him ridden with anxiety, and the secretive letter he received a few days later did nothing to ease his worries.

While he was not surprised that news of Lonato's death would please her, Lady Rhea's next words had shocked him immensely. He knew the church took a harsh stance against sinners, but to condone - and even encourage - the execution of rebellious civilians left a poor taste in his mouth.

The mere thought of the archbishop discovering Monica's or Edelgard's involvement in his stand against fate made his blood run cold.

_"You ought to show that letter to someone. Perhaps your father, or the librarian. Its contents are interesting, to say the least."_

Sothis was right, thought Byleth. He had been keeping far too many things to himself and it had even begun to affect his health.

"How may I help you, Miss Arnault?" he asked, once he had gathered his bearings and sat up straight in his chair.

"Well, you see, Professor…" began Dorothea; twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers. "I've been thinking about something lately. I feel like I've gotten down the basics of swordplay already, and that maybe I should focus more on magic. I wouldn't mind being a warlock one day."

It was a reasonable request, he figured. Her talents leaned more toward the arcane arts, and it was not as though he expected her to become a physical warrior in the first place. Unless she truly wished it, that is.

"I agree. I'll have a revised curriculum ready for you by the next lecture."

"Really?! Thanks, Professor!"

She happily returned to her desk, and Byleth called for the next student in line. Unfortunately, it was Petra, and she struggled to find the words to convey her rather complex question.

_"With that, I believe I shall be taking my leave. Did you know that I recently discovered a way to furnish your mind? It makes for a most entertaining pastime."_

While Sothis retreated into the far reaches of his consciousness, Petra stammered incoherently.

_"Good luck, Byleth."_

* * *

Skipping lunch may not have been such a wise decision, thought Byleth, who was acutely aware of his growling stomach.

The gap in his schedule was short, however, and he needed to speak with Tomas. The kindly librarian was one of the few people that Byleth felt he could trust within the church, aside from his father and perhaps a handful of his students.

He had debated speaking with his father about his concerns, but Jeralt would undoubtedly grow much too paranoid and apprehensive. The last thing his old man needed was yet another burden on his shoulder.

As he made his way to the library, Byleth passed the students' dormitories, only to hear the strangest of sounds.

"Nyaaaaargh!"

"Hrrrrrrghh!"

"Aaaaaaargh!"

"Mrgrgr!"

He stopped dead in his tracks, unsure what to make of the spectacle taking place before him. Raphael and Flayn stood opposite each other; the former grunting and flexing his arms proudly while the latter attempted to make herself appear equally mighty.

"Professor!" said Flayn excitedly, noticing his arrival. "I have been meaning to speak with you for quite some time. I just so happened to be making my way to your quarters, when suddenly I stumbled upon Raphael here."

The muscle-bound member of the Golden Deer House waved happily at them both, before excusing himself, as there was apparently a hot meal somewhere with his name written on it.

"What did you think?" asked Flayn, looking at him expectantly. "Oh! But do not let me hold you up! If your duties call you elsewhere, I would not think to keep you from them."

"It's alright. I was just heading to the library." said Byleth, and the two quickly fell in step beside one another.

"You sounded suitably intimidating, by the way." he lied.

If anything, he quite welcomed Flayn's presence. Seteth's little sister could prove an avenue into the mysterious dealings of the church, and so Byleth nodded encouragingly when she let out a delighted laugh.

"Truly? That pleases me to hear, Professor! If I grow strong and fierce enough, perhaps my brother will even allow me to join one of the houses! I do so wish to become a student of the academy…"

They entered the monastery; engaging in idle yet intriguing chit-chat along the way. It turned out that Flayn was just as mysterious as her brother and the archbishop, and that strangely, they seemed to think the same of him.

She giggled when he asked about her age. Byleth only belatedly recalled that was a question no man was ever supposed to ask of a lady - it had been one of his father's earliest warnings.

Contrary to what he expected, however, Flayn did not take offense. Instead she seemed flattered, albeit for an entirely different reason.

"Oh, Professor! You truly are a man of chivalry! No one has ever addressed me as Miss Flayn before. I believe I could grow accustomed to it… Indeed, it is most refreshing not to be treated as a child!"

She smiled all the way to the second floor of the monastery. Byleth, however, did not fail to notice that she never answered his question.

"Here we are, then. I must thank you for indulging my curiosity, Professor. I do hope we can hold more conversations such as these in the future!"

He smiled ever so slightly.

"As do I, Miss Flayn."

The green-haired girl then skipped away happily, and Byleth entered the library.

There were a handful of people present, but thankfully, they seemed far too enraptured by whatever they were reading to pay him any attention. He made his way over to the history section, where a familiar figure currently restocked its shelves.

Tomas greeted him with a wide smile, and even grasped Byleth's arm in a show of camaraderie.

"Professor! It brings me great joy to see you safe and sound. I heard of your victory in the Kingdom - not that I ever doubted you, of course."

Byleth cracked a smile at that. He rather liked the idea that others might have faith in his abilities.

"How may I help you, my boy?"

He proceeded to share some of his concerns, hoping that Tomas might be able to help him make some sense of it all.

"A letter, you say? And signed only by... a friend."

Tomas was frowning; his wizened face deep in thought as he considered the letter in his hand.

It was a small, inconspicuous thing, sealed with no discernible stamp. An outsider would have thought it a simple shopkeeper's receipt, or a love letter. Once he began to read it, however, his eyes were quick to widen.

Byleth was ushered into the back of the library, away from any prying eyes.

"This is- Professor, you must keep this information close to your chest. I can't even begin to imagine the panic that would ensue if the public were made aware of this... especially with the Goddess' Rite of Rebirth soon at hand."

The librarian rubbed his chin in contemplation.

"I wonder... who could possibly have written it?"

Byleth leaned against one of the bookshelves; a suspicion already forming in his mind. It was hardly a coincidence for something like this to happen only days after sparing Lord Lonato. Thankfully, the man must have taken Monica's words to heart, because he had not left even the slightest hint of his survival.

"Tomas." began Byleth. "There is something you should know. Lord Lonato still lives. I believe he is the one who had this letter issued to me."

"What?!"

"I don't usually act so... whimsically. Yet, for some reason, I felt compelled to spare his life."

"I don't know what to say. Your secret is safe with me, of course, but I must ask... what do you intend to do now? How will you respond to this letter, and the information it contains?"

"I'm... not sure." Byleth admitted. "Part of me would like to simply share it with the rest of the faculty and be done with it."

He thought a flash of concern passed through the old man's eyes, and shook his head.

"No. That would render everything I've done completely pointless. While I know next to nothing about this Western Church, they do make a fair case. I can't help but agree that the archbishop is monopolizing the word of the goddess, and doing it far too often for my liking."

There was a brief moment of silence, before Tomas lowered his head.

"I would concur." he whispered, and Byleth immediately felt a sense of relief. He was happy not to be alone in his opinion, and felt all the more justified for what he would say next.

"In that case, I won't be stopping these… agents. I don't see any particular problem with the church losing an artifact or two, so long as my students and colleagues remain unharmed."

He bowed, thanking the librarian for his counsel. Realizing he did not have much time until his next lecture, Byleth excused himself hastily, and rushed back to his classroom.

In his hurry, he also missed the look of triumph that came over Tomas' face.

* * *

The remainder of the week went by quickly.

Byleth's conversation with Tomas served to ease his anxiety, and slowly but surely his nights grew more peaceful. With no particular mission to prepare for, he also had much more freedom to go about his own business.

The students, on their part, were fully devoted to their training. Jeritza had recently announced a tournament; one that would welcome both teachers and pupils alike, and it had quickly become the talk of the monastery.

_"That reminds me… I was meaning to ask if you would be participating in this event. Blood sport never fails to amuse me."_

Not for the first time, Byleth wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with his impish friend.

_"I am not an imp! I am The Beginning! A being most glorious and divine, and someone worthy of worship, not mockery!"_

He inclined his head to a passerby, while silently begging forgiveness of Her Grace.

"_Your sarcasm is ill-favored, Byleth."_

A horse neighed, and Byleth realized that his aimless stroll had taken him to the stables. Along with the cathedral it was one of the places he rarely visited, yet when he did, something interesting always seemed to take place.

"Easy there, Dorte. It's just... P-Professor?"

The horse calmed down instantly, and he found himself admiring how easily Marianne had tamed the beast. While he could appreciate a noble steed, riding and caring for animals had always been his father's strong suit.

Byleth, on the other hand, much preferred the sense of security that came with standing on his own two feet.

"Good evening, Miss Edmund. It's good to see you again."

A ghost of a smile flickered across the girl's face, only barely lit by twilight, and he was pleased to see that she did not shirk back as she had during their previous encounters.

"Th-Thank you. Um... I'm happy to see you, too."

She kept on staring at him, and even opened her mouth briefly before blushing and turning back to the horse.

_"It has a name, Byleth. Use it."_

"You seem to bond well with animals, Miss Edmund." said Byleth, standing next to her as she gently petted Dorte's muzzle. "Dorte seems quite taken with you. I may not be teaching you personally, but I'd advise that you make good use of this gift in the future."

"The future..." whispered Marianne; her eyes trailing away into the distance.

They stood silently in the middle of the pasture, disturbed only by the occasional shuffling of Dorte's hooves. Again, Marianne hesitated to speak, as though the words were caught up in her throat each time.

"Prof-"

Dorte bumped lightly against his chest.

"I believe Dorte is a little jealous." said Byleth calmly. With Marianne lost completely to her thoughts, the horse had been robbed of its constant source of care and attention.

"W-What?"

It began as a small giggle; the blue-haired girl looking between Byleth and Dorte in confusion. As she pieced together the puzzle, however, the giggling soon turned into soft, melodious laughter.

"Oh my! Jealous... now that is funny!"

As though a spell had been broken, the girl suddenly turned to face him with a surprising amount of determination in her eyes.

"Professor, I've been thinking. I- I'd like to make a request. I hope that the goddess won't hold my selfishness against me."

She took a deep breath.

"Y-You never gave up on me, even when I tried to push you away. You saw my curse, and still..."

Byleth smiled, already knowing what Marianne was about to say. It filled him with pride to see the shy, melancholic girl growing out of her shell.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that... I'd like to join your class, Professor. I want to learn more from you."

She clasped her hands together as if in prayer.

"Please accept me as your student."


End file.
